


Mark Of Elysium

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Drama, F/M, Polyamory, Sex, Smut, Threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Sam Winchester returns home after years at war only to find his father murdered and brother missing. He is determined to find out what happened, even if it means making an enemy of the Roman Empire.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun beat down on him, hotter than he remembered it. After two years in the snowy wilderness, fighting brutes with twice his strength and none of the intelligence, Sam was tired. His scars were multitudinous, some wounds yet to fully heal and he wondered if Dean would even recognize him. In his absence, he’d grown his hair out, letting it hang long and usually tucked behind his ears, an unusual choice of style for a Roman.

It was another few miles to home and as eager as he was to get there, he was enjoying the warmth of his home, the golden seas of wheat fields around him, the odd green meadow scattered in between them. Rabbits and deer frolicked in the open spaces and Sam smiled, leaning back on his horse, glad to be home.

In the distance, smoke rose from the horizon and Sam frowned, wondering if his father was burning something. It was commonplace to burn waste out here, with nowhere else to put it, especially if they had an issue with sickness among the animals.

Sam dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, Ruby, enough to spur her forward and she lifted her head, picking up the pace as her master commanded.

There wasn’t a fire. Or there wasn’t now.

The farm was in ruins, the remaining walls of the buildings blackened and charred. Horror rose in Sam’s throat, bile threatening to overwhelm him as the stench of burning flesh reached his nostrils. Ruby reared and whinnied in panic, so Sam tied her at the end of the orchard, to a pear tree at the bottom. From there, he hiked on foot through the trees, reaching the house and almost wishing he couldn’t see.

His father’s corpse was nailed to the wall, burned and decapitated, the only identifying feature the still visible Winchester crest on his left pectoral muscle, dirty with ash. Sam let out an anguished moan, falling to his knees in the dirt, not caring when stones scraped his skin as he mourned the loss of his father.

They’d fought before he’d left. His father was unhappy with Sam’s desire to join the Empire’s war effort, wanting him to stay home and work the family farm. They were prosperous, successful – John had no need for war. Dean, while he had shown an interest in joining, had declined, siding with their father.

It was the last time he’d spoken to either of them.

Yelling out for his brother, Sam scrambled to his feet, losing an already-battered leather shoe in the process, his tunic filthy from the ground. He moved through the smoldering ruins, unable to see anything that had survived the destruction but not a single sign of his brother. Repeating his name, he felt despair churn in his belly and finally, he sank down into the dirt again, sobbing.

Dean wasn’t here. He’d either been taken or killed somewhere else.

By the time the sun started to set, Sam pulled his father’s body from the wall and set about giving him a proper burial, according to their family traditions. He didn’t speak the prayer aloud as he lit the funeral pyre and stood in silence, watching the flames with tears running down his cheeks.

He didn’t sleep that night. He found some food for his horse and ate some of the fruit from the orchard trees that had survived before picking through the wreckage of his family home, finding little to nothing worth salvaging. All of his mother’s artwork was destroyed and when he loaded up the horse the next morning, the only possession he carried from the house was a small woolly doll, something Dean had given him when he was a baby.

Tucking it into the leather belt around the waist of his tunic, Sam set off before the sun had even breached the horizon, heading East towards the Mediterranean. The nearest town was Lawrencia, a full days ride, but maybe he could find out some clue as to the whereabouts of his elder brother.

*****

Lawrencia was a small province, ruled over by a magistrate, Robertus Singeus, fondly known by locals as “Bobby”. He’d been close friends with Sam’s father, so if anyone had information, he expected Bobby would. As he passed the farms on the road leading into town, he noticed more centurions than usual along the route. Dismounting from Ruby, he walked the rest of the way, only seeing more soldiers on the slightly smaller streets.

Town wasn’t as busy as one would expect for the middle of the day. Sam noted the lack of people, the houses that were dark and shops quiet. Bobby lived in the middle of the town, in a villa that was surrounded by pink peonies and always looked spectacular in the summer.

Today, the peonies were gone, stripped down and there were two Roman soldiers at the entrance to the villa. Sam hung back, unsure of himself, unsure of the situation. How had things changed so much in such a short time?

“Sam?” A quiet voice caught his attention and Sam turned, frowning into the darkness of the alleyway behind him. Ruby snorted and hoofed at the ground. Narrowing his eyes, Sam spotted a dark man, recognizing him as Rufus, a long-time friend and freedman of Bobby.

“Rufus?” he murmured, leading Ruby into the alleyway, holding tightly to her reins. “Rufus, what is going on?”

The dark-skinned freedman chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Bobby is under house arrest,” he explained. “Things got bad. Azazel is ordering a new census. Some say he’s gone mad with power.”

“What happened to my father?” Sam asked, hesitantly. “My brother? What of them, Rufus?”

Rufus sighed and shook his head, leaning heavily against the wall and it was then that Sam noticed the wound to his leg. It was infected and sweat beaded on Rufus’ dark skin, indicating that he was suffering quite badly. “Your father was tried and executed for failing to align with Azazel’s ideals. And Dean… Dean was taken as payment for his crimes.”

Sam’s shoulders dropped. “Where was he taken?”

The older man shifted onto his bad leg, wincing. “I don’t know. The centurions went East. They were commanded by Alastair.”

The blood in Sam’s veins ran cold. Alastair was a harsh and cruel man, known for his despicable actions in Rome. He was a bloodthirsty torturer, slave driver and god knows what would happen to Dean in his hands. “How long, Rufus?” Sam asked, quietly. “The farm was still burning when I reached home.”

Rufus shook his head. “I don’t know, Sam, I’m sorry. Leviticus won’t let any of us in the building to speak to Bobby. Gods know if he is even alive.” A grimace stretched across his face and he sank down to the stone floor, touching Ruby’s mane when she nuzzled him. “This filth will kill me,” he said, gesturing to his leg. “It’s in my heart, I can feel it. I need some wine.”

Sam’s face fell. “I don’t have any provisions, Rufus, I’m sorry.” He crouched down, still holding Ruby’s reins with one hand. “I can fetch the apothecary, if you wish?”

There was a dry chuckle and Rufus shook his head. “It is better to die now than watch the world crumble. The Roman Empire was great once,” he sighed, “and now, Azazel drives it to ruin.” His dark eyes met Sam’s. “Your brother is likely dead, Sam. Flee. Leave the Empire. Find somewhere, someone and wait for it to end. You do not have to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“You told me that once when I was a boy,” Sam murmured, reaching out to touch Rufus’ shoulder and feeling the heat coming off of him, not caused by the morning sun. “Rufus, I cannot leave you here.”

“I was born in an alleyway, my boy,” Rufus grunted, shifting on his ass and Sam could see the pus oozing from his wound. “We all end up back where we started.”

“Hey!” A commanding shout made Sam jump to his feet, spotting a Roman soldier coming down the alleyway. “What are you doing?”

“My friend,” Sam said, pointing at Rufus. “He is ill and requires help.”

The soldier peered around to see the injured freedman, scoffing. “He’ll get none here. Good as dead.” Sam glared, itching to grab his blade from Ruby’s saddlepack but he held back, glancing at Rufus, who shook his head. “I suggest you move along before you’re arrested for trespassing.”

“It’s a public alleyway,” Sam argued.

A deadly look crossed the soldier’s face. “Are you arguing with me boy? What are you? Noble or plebeian?”

Sam drew himself up to his full height, anger making him impulsive, even as he heard Rufus dissuade him with a “no”. “I am Samuel Winchester, son of John Winchester. I am a soldier of the Roman Empire, a warrior returned from the North. I find my father murdered, my home destroyed and my brother kidnapped. I demand to see the magistrate.”

The older soldier stared at him, recognizing the name, before a cruel smile crossed his face. “Of course,” he bowed, with no friendliness in his voice whatsoever. “If you will follow me.”

Sam turned back to Rufus. “Wait here, Rufus. I will find some assistance for you.” The old man gave him a look, knowing he’d find no help but Sam was determined. He stroked along Ruby’s neck, soothing the old horse. “Take Rufus back to the farm, Ruby. I shall come and find you.” The horse whinnied, used to her master’s commands, and Sam looked over at the soldier. “You will let my friend pass. No harm will come to him.”

With a tilt of his head, the soldier stood back, leaving the path clear. Sam reached down, helping Rufus onto the horse and Ruby snorted at the sudden weight after a morning without burden. “Sam, be careful. They will try to kill you.”

“I will be fine Rufus. I’m a Roman Elysium,” he murmured, patting Ruby’s flank. “Go, swiftly, and I shall find out what is going on here.” He lowered his voice, leaning in. “My sword is in the saddle pack. Use it if you can.” Sam stood back and smacked Ruby hard, sending her off.

The horse took off at a trot, out of the alleyway and past the soldier, who watched him with hawk-like eyes. Sam waited a few moments before turning to the centurion, giving him a hard look.

“If you would follow me,” the stern man grunted, pointing his spear towards the villa. Sam obeyed, moving past the posted guards and into the villa, shocked at the state of it. Everything of worth had been taken, removed from the premises, and Sam could see none of the usual staff in the house. Bobby didn’t keep slaves; he would buy them and free them, giving them a job and a home.

The villa opened up into a courtyard in the middle, like many did, and the soldier didn’t say a word as he led Sam on, into the gardens, down to the stone fountain that Sam remembered splashing in as a child. Opposite, sat a man he did not know, dressing in a fine woollen toga, the lilac shading indicating his nobility.

“My lord,” the centurion greeted, bowing his head. “You have a guest.”

The man peered at Sam curiously, taking in his large stature and uncommon hairstyle. “Who is this?” he asked, his tone almost indicating disgust.

The soldier grinned. “This is Sam Winchester. The farmer’s son.”

A amused laugh left the toga man and he stood up, showing his height to be significantly less than Sam’s. “We thought you dead, boy.”

“Where is Robertus?” Sam asked, reverting to his friend’s full name. “He was magistrate of this town before I left.”

“Ah, and you have been gone a long time, my boy,” the man said, clutching his hand to his chest. “And things have changed. Robertus is no longer the magistrate of Lawrencia. I, Asmodeus Priscius, have been placed in this position to replace him by Emperor Azazel.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Asmodeus only smiled back. “Dead. Does that answer it?” Sam’s entire body went tense, visions of gutting this vile man stood in front of him only garnering favor from his own conscience.. “He was tried for the same crimes as your father and taken to Rome for his public execution.”

“What were the crimes?” Sam demanded, feeling his ire grow with each passing moment in the man’s company. Asmodeus’ smile was twisted and cruel; this man was a puppet of Azazel through and through. The Emperor did not curry many favors among those who had little - he was there for the power not the people.

“Treason against the Empire,” Asmodeus replied smugly, sitting back down. “For which the penalty is death.”

Sam’s jaw tensed, a tick manifesting in his cheek. “Where is my brother?” The smaller man shrugged. “You will answer me. Where is my brother?”

“You’re a soldier of the Roman Empire, Samuel. Should you not be bending the knee to your superior?” Asmodeus looked around, gesturing to the lush courtyard. “Your father broke the law. Robertus broke the law. Your brother is paying penance for his assistance in their crimes.”

“And yet you refuse to tell me what those crimes were,” Sam growled, advancing on him threateningly, satisfied when the man twitched and looked a little worried – Sam knew he was bigger than most Romans. Dean was similar in stature, every Winchester was – he didn’t see either his father or brother being taken down easily.

“If you threaten me,” Asmodeus said, gesturing around as Roman soldiers appeared at every entrance to the courtyard, “you threaten the Empire. Do you wish to be tried for the same crimes as your father?”

Sam wanted to kill him. Wanted to rip him limb from limb but instead, he allowed a sly grin to cross his lips. “No,” he replied slowly. “But I want you to know, that I was not just a soldier, Asmodeus. I was and still am, a Roman Elysium.” The man’s eyes widened at the implication and Sam’s smile only grew. “I will take my leave. And I will find my brother. By law, if he has been taken as a slave, I have to right to purchase his deed.”

Asmodeus lifted his chin. “You have that right. But it’s unlikely you will find him.”

“You’ll find I do a lot of unlikely things,” Sam retorted coolly, turning away.


	2. Chapter 2

Rufus had made it to the farm with Ruby and had managed to dismount from the animal, tying her to the same tree at the bottom of the orchard. When Sam arrived, he was dozing underneath one of the trees, half a dozen apple and pear cores at his side.

Sam plucked a fresh apple from the tree, offering it to Ruby, who took it with her whole mouth and started to much, shaking her head and flicking her tail around to rid herself of the flies. Sitting down opposite Rufus, Sam looked at the older man’s injuries, deciding whether he would actually be able to do anything. His training in medical care was limited but he’d seen wounds like it before.

He remembered one of his unit, a stick-thin but sneaky man called Garth. It was his duty to scout for the Elysium, to find the best way in to ambush the barbarians they faced. In the line of duty, he’d been wounded by a blade and it was infected within hours. It was a typical barbarian manoeuvre, to dirty their weapons and make the wounds they caused more susceptible to infection.

Garth had lost the arm but the wound had healed with the help of some herbs that one of the men in his unit had found. He remembered being told about them by his grandmother, who worshiped the old gods, unlike many who were turning to the Christian faith.

Sam never put much stock in gods. He knew that men held the power and the wrong men, most of the time. Dissension in the ranks had increased ten-fold when the former Emperor had passed – Azazel had been on the throne of the Empire, slowly dissolving the senate, for ten years. It sickened Sam to fight and conquer in his name but it was his duty as he saw it.

Elysium were identified by a marking found at birth. Until their eighteenth birthday, they remained in the family home and decades ago would have been automatically enlisted in the army. Nowadays, many Elysium did not join the ranks of the Roman soldiers – they chose to shun their duty. Dean had chosen that path. Those who did, were part of the Elite. Strong and intelligent, they often tackled missions that lesser Romans would fail.

There’d never been two with the same marks born to the same woman. Sam thought it was for that reason his mother had been murdered, although they never knew who had killed her in his nursery when he was barely a babe.

John hadn’t wanted either of them to follow the path their marks dictated. He wanted his boys safe, away from the fighting. He’d already lost his wife – losing his sons was not an option. It was half the reason Sam wanted to leave, to escape what he perceived as John’s controlling ways.

Now, he knew John was simply trying to save them, even if he had failed miserably.

“You gonna sit there staring at me, boy?”

Sam looked up at Rufus, who was only opening his eyes halfway. “I brought you wine,” Sam offered and the old man laughed, reaching for the container as soon as Sam offered it. The younger of the two watched while he drank, contemplating what he could do to save his life. “I can try to heal the wound, if you like.”

Rufus chuckled. “I’m done for, Sam. You’d do best to leave this place.”

“I’m not going anywhere without my brother.”

“You and him always were a stubborn pair of fools,” Rufus commented, slugging some more of the wine down. “I’m surprised Asmodeus didn’t kill you.”

“You knew they took Bobby to Rome,” Sam started and the old man sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rufus’ head rolled back against the thin tree trunk. “You would learn the truth on your own. Bobby is dead. It is likely your brother is too.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re more of a fool than I thought,” Rufus snapped. “You and your brother, bull-headed Elysium brats. Always have been.”

“You’re lashing out, Rufus,” Sam replied with a wry grin. “You’re not angry at me.”

Rufus snorted in irritation, dropping his head back against the tree and taking a deep breath. “You’re heading on a fool’s errand, Samuel, mark my words.”

“And what of you?” Sam asked, chomping on a piece of fruit. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was amidst all the drama. “Will you stay here?”

“No,” Rufus muttered, looking out over the horizon, his eyes distant. “I think I shall take my leave of this cursed land. Maybe I will visit Britannia. I hear their women are quite ferocious.”

“So you’re looking for worse trouble?” The joke made Rufus laugh before he clutched his belly in pain. “Let me treat your wounds. You’re not going to die, Rufus.” The older man rolled his eyes and Sam finished his fruit, getting to his feet. “Are you going to be stubborn?”

Rufus grumbled, shaking his head and Sam smiled, fetching his minimal supplies from the knapsack on Ruby’s flank. He removed the entire parcel, setting it on the floor with his sword. “You didn’t bring your armor back with you?” Rufus asked, frowning as he reached for the sword. Sam chuckled, sitting back down, closer to the old man this time.

“I’m an Elysium, Rufus. What use do we have for armor?”

*****

You rushed to cover yourself when you heard your father coming, pulling down your sleeves to cover your forearms, just as he walked into your chambers. “Daughter,” he greeted, smiling and you cringed internally, forcing a smile onto your face. You’d never known what your mother had seen in him and felt no love towards him paternally.

If only your mother had still been alive. You would ask her.

“I’m fine, Father,” you replied, bowing your head slightly. “I am looking forward to the tour of the gladiator pens today.”

The Emperor’s smile widened. “Ah, good. Perhaps we will find you a suitable pet.”

You hated that he called them that, like they weren’t human beings. Some of them were slaves from distant lands, most of them were intelligent and not the lowly creatures your father believed them to be. But then, Azazel held himself above all others, above even the gods.

“Maybe,” you replied, picking up a soft shawl to cover your shoulders, wishing he wasn’t accompanying you. Azazel watched you with a strange look on his face but you tried not to make direct eye contact with him, keeping a good amount of space between you as you walked out of your bedchambers and towards the main hall.

Before you had to spend too much time alone in your father’s company, you were saved by Penelope, a Grecian handmaiden who was your constant companion. She smiled at you, ignoring the Emperor’s lecherous gaze, moving to stand beside you as you walked into the large marble hall, decorated with the finest fabrics, adorning each column. The room would have been beautiful, if not for the numerous depictions of Azazel’s profile.

“Penelope is accompanying us,” you informed your father curtly but politely, still not making eye contact. “She has not been to the gladiator pits before.”

Azazel gave Penelope that dazzling creepy grin you hated and she unconsciously moved closer to you. “Well then, we shall make a morning of it. I have no appointments until after noon.”

You met Penelope’s gaze, sharing a look as Azazel walked off ahead, meeting with his personal guard. Both of them were huge, muscled men, dressed in armor from head to toe, stern expressions visible under their helmets. “Is he really going to be sticking beside you all day?” Penelope asked, keeping her voice low and you grimaced, nodding. “Oh.”

“Sorry. He turned up when I was barely dressed. I meant to come and find you before anyone disturbed me.” You took her hand. “We shall persevere together, my dear friend.” Penelope smiled just as Azazel called out to you both. “We are strong enough to survive even my father’s boring company.”

The gladiator pits were underneath the colosseum, which dominated the skyline of Rome with its huge arcs and pale stone. Despite the outward glamor of the majestic building, when you descended into the pits, there was an overwhelming stench of blood and death.

“They seem to have cleaned up for our visit,” Azazel joked, gesturing to a large bloodstain in an empty cell. You wrinkled your nose and Penelope clung to your arm. 

Finding a “pet” was Azazel’s way of saying that you were to select a concubine.  Someone to keep you company, serve you in the ways Penelope couldn’t. But you weren’t interested in any of that. You could not be with any man or woman because you were fated for something greater. Only he didn’t know that.

He’d never seen the marks your mother had taken great care to hide. Since you were four years old, you’d been able to cover them with clothing, jewellery and makeup, and after your mother passed when you were six, you’d made sure to obey the rules she’d left you with.

_ Cover your marks. _

_ Don’t trust anyone except Penelope. _

_ Never trust your father. _

It was strange, you’d thought when you were younger, that telling a child not to trust a parent was odd, but the older you got, the more you realized that your mother’s words were the truth. She remained here to protect you and by all appearances, Azazel doted on you. But you were never comfortable around him.

“Oh my,” Penelope gasped, pointing at the corpse of a man in a crate, his wounds infected with maggots and flies crawling across them.

“We’re just taking him down to the river, my lady,” one of the pit guards informed you. “Died of his wounds.” You felt like you were going to be sick. “My apologies, Emperor.” He bowed and Azazel shrugged.

“It happens,” he dismissed, walking on past the dead body without so much as flinching. You and Penelope both gave the crate a wide berth, relieved when the personal guard led you down a corridor that smelled much better and didn’t have blood on the walls or corpses in boxes.

The cells along one side were occupied, at least four men to each. Most of them were huge brutes, some you recognized as from the continents further south, their skin darker and their builds bigger. Several of them were nude, other dressed in small scraps of linen that barely covered anything. A lot of them carried scars and injuries that looked old – one man was missing an ear and most of his teeth.

“Horrific looking brutes aren’t they?” Azazel joked, standing close to one of the cells. “But they are fantastic entertainment.”

You swallowed nervously – you’d seen plenty of gladiator fights. They always ended bloody, especially when Azazel decided to put special measures to ensure plenty of gore for the audience. His favorite was a large tiger, battle scarred and half-starved, much like the gladiators themselves.

“This one,” Azazel started, “is from the jungles of Africa Proconsularis. Claudius has won many matches and is an impressive example of a male from that province.” The large black man in front of him was bigger than any you’d seen and you stepped back, shaking your head. He looked terrifying. “Too large?” Azazel commented with a sneer. “We wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.”

A shudder ran down your spine. You weren’t interested in any of the men. You were here because you had to be – Azazel’s orders didn’t get disobeyed.

“What about this one, daughter?” he said, motioning to a slightly smaller but still imposing figure. You turned away, heading further down the cells with Penelope and Azazel shrugged, following on. At the very end of the corridor, something stopped you, like a tug on your stomach, a pull that you couldn’t ignore.

The cell at the far end was occupied by only one man. He was at least six feet, wearing a tunic that had seen better days. His short hair was a very dark blonde, more brown than anything and his skin was tanned, scars covering his forearms that indicated he’d been of an honest living before coming here.

“Ah, my prize possession,” Azazel grinned, gesturing to the man. “This one only came to me recently but he shows great promise in the arena. I’m planning on putting him to fight tomorrow against Claudius.” He pointed back to the large black man, still pressed against his bars.

You stared into the cell, meeting the man’s green eyes. He moved, standing straight, and you saw it then – five dots and a line, etched into the crook of his elbow in pale silver, only visible when you really look.

He was an Elysium.

Did Azazel know?

“We’d never managed to acquire an Elysium,” Azazel boasted and your heart sank when you looked back at the man, who stared back with a sorrowful and angry gaze. “He’s untrained but very powerful.” Your father drew closer, too close for comfort but you didn’t move. “Maybe you would like this one? I could have him brought to your chambers?”

Penelope’s grip on your arm tightened as the Elysium man watched you, his eyes dropping to the curve of your own elbow, covered by the soft fabrics you’d dressed in. Could he sense it? Could he possibly know that the same marks laid on your arm?

It was entirely feasible that he’d never seen a female Elysium. They were rare, so rare that your mother had feared for your safety and hidden the markings. You’d only ever seen one other with the marks - a small boy, torn forcibly from his mother. Both of them were dead now on the Empire’s orders.

“Would you like him, daughter?” Azazel asked. “Elysium men are very potent, from what I have heard.”

“How did you acquire him?” you demanded, looking your father in the eye for the first time that day and he smiled, that grin that made your stomach churn.

“His father was a traitor to the Empire,” the Emperor replied, shrugging. “He was sentenced to death and his son signed over to possession of myself as payment for his crimes.” He gestured to a guard, motioning for them to open the door. “He hasn’t spoken but he’s showing promise in training.”

“Is it safe?” Penelope asked as the guard opened the door. “He won’t hurt us will he?”

“It is more than his life is worth to attack a member of the royal family,” the guard snarled, walking into the cell, drawing a solid wooden baton and pointing it at the Elysium. “Walk forward for the princess to inspect you.”

You hated being referred to that way. Standing still, you watched the man approach, feeling hesitant when he came to a stop in front of you, those haunting eyes boring into yours. “What’s your name?” you asked but he didn’t reply, standing stock still. “Does he not talk at all? Is he mute?”

“I am not mute, my lady,” the man spoke, quietly, dropping his eyes. “I only speak with those worth speaking to.”

The guard reacted immediately, bringing the baton down on the man’s shoulder, dropping him to his knees. With a barked command, you held your arm out to the guard, stopping him. “Don’t hurt him!”

“He shows disrespect, princess,” the guard defended and you scowled.

“Move back,” you commanded, using the authority you rarely stretched, before leaning down to touch the Elysium male’s arm. Almost instantly, a strange warmth ran through you and he lifted his eyes to meet yours again. “Your name?”

“Dean,” he replied, getting to his feet, towering almost a solid foot above you. “My name is Dean Winchester.”

“Unusual,” Penelope commented, leaning in to you. “But he is very handsome, my lady.” There was a giggle in her tone and you smiled.

Azazel stood behind Dean, narrowing his eyes for the briefest of seconds. “I shall have him cleaned and brought to your chambers, daughter,” he insisted, clicking his fingers at the guards. Dean was pushed back into the cell, although he didn’t take his eyes off of you for a second. Azazel took hold of your arm, making your skin crawl. “Let us go and enjoy some wine, my dear Y/N. I feel the cells have outworn their appeal.”

You let him lead you away, sparing only one glance back.

Dean was at the bars of his cell, watching you and you smiled secretly to yourself as he disappeared from view.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam didn’t argue with Rufus when the old man decided to head for Britannia. Lawrencia held nothing for him now and when the younger man told him to take his horse, Ruby, he initially refused.

“She’s old,” Sam insisted, rubbing along Ruby’s neck, stroking his fingers through her mane. “She needs companionship and where I am going… it is going to be very dangerous. I think her retirement is due.” He smiled as the horse snuffed, nuzzling his hand in hope of an apple.

Rufus sighed, staring at him. “If you say so. What about you?”

“I have enough coin for a new horse. Maybe not a beauty like my Ruby,” he chuckled when the horse shook out her mane and whinnied, “but she doesn’t deserve to see more bloodshed after she’s seen me through so much.” Sam looked up at the ruined stables, a sad expression crossing his face. “I didn’t see Impala anywhere. Did they kill her?”

The older man shrugged. “By the time Bobby and I figured out what was going on, they were kicking the door of the villa down. I only escaped by the skin of my teeth.” His eyes followed Sam’s. “Impala was a thoroughbred mare. They probably sold her to the highest bidder.”

Sam’s mouth set in a thin line, anger at every almost blinding him for a moment. “Why do they say my father broke the law, Rufus? They’re crying treason but give me nothing to explain it.”

“Bobby objected to the new census. He objected to the posting of centurion in every town, considered it to be a waste of resources when there’s never been trouble in Lawrencia. It’s always been a peaceful province.” Rufus leaned his head back against the tree, taking a deep breath. “Unfortunately, it’s always been a plentiful province. The ground is rich, the crops grow here like nowhere else. And Azazel… he wants the land. He wants the resources. And Bobby wasn’t going to take them from his people and hand them to the Emperor.”

“So this is greed?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. “This is about power.”

“It’s about control,” Rufus corrected. “I hear the Emperor has a pretty daughter.”

“Azazel only came to power because of his influence with the previous Emperor’s daughter,” Sam snorted, grabbing a few apples to place in his knapsack. “And the rumors I heard from older officers were that he murdered her.”

Rufus chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t know the half of it. The rumors I’ve heard, that Bobby heard?” His laugh dried out as he looked to the distance. “The Emperor’s daughter is his only claim to the bloodline of the throne. Which would be difficult for him if it were proven she was not his child.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Did Bobby know of this?” Rufus nodded and Sam glanced up at the house. “Did my father?”

“No,” Rufus admitted. “John was… John came out in defiance of the Emperor’s orders to turn over all land and crops to the Empire. Said he’d earned his right as a Roman citizen to harvest his own lands. The centurions did not take kindly and acted on their orders to kill, to make your father an example. The other farmers all fell into line after that.”

“Where is the rest of my father’s body, Rufus?” Sam asked quietly, unsure if he could stomach the answer.

“Emperor Azazel has it. I do not know to what end.” Sam’s hand absently scratched at the mark on his inner arm, frowning and Rufus nodded his head in his direction. “Mark causing you problems?”

Sam shook his head, looking down at his arm. “It’s irritated. I’ve never really noticed it before but since yesterday…”

Rufus climbed to his feet, grunting in pain and clutching the gauze where Sam had treated his wound. “You’re old enough to know what your father didn’t want to tell you,” he stated, earning a puzzle look from the younger man. “Elysium were not just built to fight, Samuel. Elysium were always made in pairs.”

“But I thought Dean and I, both bearing marks, was rare.”

The old man laughed. “No, not brothers. Elysium each carry half the soul of the complete being. According to the myths anyway. But they are old legends and your father didn’t not believe they carried any weight. Especially not when your brother started bedding any young female slave that batted her eyelashes at him.” Rufus huffed, limping towards the water pump at the bottom of the orchard. “He was a pretty one.”

“Don’t talk about him like he’s dead,” Sam muttered. “He’s not. I’d know.”

“How?”

“Well, what if the legends are true? What if Dean and I have half a soul each? We’re both Elysium -”

“I don’t think you’re getting the point here, son,” Rufus interrupted. 

“What does it matter anyway,” Sam argued, “if you think Dean is already dead?” He looked up, getting angry at himself for even thinking that. “It is growing late. You should start on your travels and reach the next province by dark. I’d rather you get to Britannia alive and let the ferocious women kill you.”

Rufus laughed, a full-belly sound that echoed off of the trees. “Perhaps you are right, Sam. You sure I can’t tempt you to join me?” Sam gave him a look and Rufus rolled his eyes. “Of course. Well,” he grabbed Ruby’s saddle, heaving himself up with difficulty, “I will bid you farewell, young Winchester. I hope you find Dean, I truly do.”

“Take care of her,” Sam murmured, stroking Ruby’s mane one last time. “She’s a good friend.”

“I will,” Rufus promised.

An hour later, Sam stood in the orchard alone, bathed in the midday sun, his eyes travelling the horizon. When he was done memorizing a place he’d likely never see again, he picked up his knapsack and started to walk towards Rome.

*****

Beyond Lawrencia, Sam began to see the evidence of the Empire’s interference with local towns. The next village on the way to Rome was Sioux Falls and Sam quickly realized he needed to avoid the houses when he saw Centurion soldiers patrolling the roads. At the village boundary, he came across a mass grave of bodies, obviously civilians who had not adhered to the new census and Emperor’s Azazel’s new rule.

Sam didn’t stop in Sioux Falls, avoiding the area. By nightfall, he was exhausted and hungry, so he found a spot off of the road to hide himself for the night, eating some of his meager rations. His feet ached and he was fairly certain the sun had burned him a little but he was determined not to fail on the first day.

The mark on his arm was itching like crazy. It woke him several times through the night, as well as the calls of animals in the fields disturbing him.

He was woken the next morning just after sunrise by a sharp poke in the shoulder. Instantly, he lashed out, catching the staff that had poked him and whoever was holding it yelled something out in a language Sam didn’t recognize. Before he could get to his feet, something heavy hit his head and knocked him out cold.

When Sam came to, it was to the uncomfortable sensation of movement underneath him. He sat up, finding his arms and neck chained and his companions to be two large surly men and a smaller guy with sandy blond hair and a split lip.

“It’s awake,” one of the large men grunted, kicking Sam with his foot, receiving a scowl.

“Ah!” The booming voice made Sam turn his head to see a bearded overweight man driving the cart he was imprisoned on. “My newest acquisition!”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the back of the man’s head. “You would do well to release me,” he growled. “I’m not an acquisition. You attacked me on the side of the road.”

“How do you think he gets his “acquisitions”?” the smaller guy grumbled, eyeing Sam warily. “All of us were asleep somewhere when he came along with his poking stick.” The man driving laughed loudly and Sam sat up as much as he could within the restraints. “I’m Gabriel,” the small guy offered. “I’d shake your hand but I’m a little tied up.”

“Sam,” Sam grunted back, looking at the two larger men.

“Oh don’t mind these two, they’re just miserable bastards,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “This is Gadreel,” he pointed to the one who hadn’t spoken before turning his attention to the larger of the two who’d referred to Sam as “it”. “And that dick is Uriel.”

“Why don’t you shut your hole?” Uriel hissed and Gabriel grinned.

“Only when you make me, buster.” Gabriel pointed at the man driving the cart, his expression darkening. “And of course, our loving savior, Leonardo.” He tilted his head at Sam, an humorless grin on his face. “A slave trader.”

“I’m not a slave,” Sam growled, tugging at his chains. “I’m a soldier of the Roman Empire.”

Leonardo chuckled from his seat on the front of the cart. “You  _ were _ . Times like these, no one is a free man. Especially not an Elysium.” Sam looked down at his arm, the torn fabric of his tunic exposing his marks. “You’ll fetch me plenty coin on the market. There’s plenty of call for strong young men to work the fields and in the arena of course.”

Sam glowered at the man, already formulating plans to escape. The cart carried on and Gabriel chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek as he watched Sam carefully. “You’re John Winchester’s boy.” Sam’s head shot up and Gabriel grinned. “Oh yeah, word of what happened to your pa spread far and wide. They paraded his head through the streets to show everyone what happens when you don’t follow the Emperor’s orders. And then there’s your brother, of course.”

“What do you know about my brother?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes, suspicious of the smaller man. Uriel glared at Gabriel, who continued to talk without either noticing or caring.

“He’s alive. I know that much. Got taken to Rome. He an Elysium too?” Sam nodded and Gabriel smirked. “He’s probably be sold off to the highest bidder. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe it was some noble woman who wanted a prize stallion to ride.”

Sam pulled a face, looking away. He didn’t want to imagine the possibilities of what had happened to Dean. Gabriel shifted in his seat, his restraints rattling.

“Leonardo here is taking us to Cremano. Intends to sell us there.”   the smaller man explained, leaning back against the side of the cart. Sam sucked in a breath - Cremano was closer to Rome than he had been; maybe he could find a way to escape and travel the rest of the way in a shorter time. “Me, I’m lookin’ at the big leagues. I could be the Champion Gladiator of the Colosseum.”

Uriel snorted, reaching over to smack Gabriel up the side of the head and the man protested at the treatment. “You’ll get nothing more than the position of fool,” Uriel sneered. “Why don’t you shut up so we can all have some peace.”

“You’re a slave too?” Sam asked and Uriel turned his eyes on him, holding up his chained wrists.

“What do you think?” he growled. “You Romans are all the same. Arrogant pieces of shit.” The huge black man leaned forward, fixing his cold stare on the younger man. “I hope they put you in the arena and they can watch the lions pull you into pieces.” He spat on the floor at Sam’s feet before turning away.

Gabriel grinned as Sam scowled. “Told you; he’s a charmer.”


	4. Chapter 4

Cremona was a sprawling city, relatively new in comparison to Rome but no less busy. The streets, like many other towns Sam had noticed, were crawling with Roman soldiers and the cart went through several checkpoints before being allowed into the main marketplace. Gabriel provided annoying commentary throughout the entire trip and by the time Leonardo had bartered with another merchant to use the slaves crates, the small man was sporting a black eye courtesy of Uriel.

Sam didn’t say a word as they were led into the cages one by one. People peered at him, making him feel like an animal on display and Leonardo insisted on ripping his shirt sleeve more, leaving his Elysium marks visible to any prospective buyers.

By the middle of the afternoon, at least four highborn men had expressed an interest in him despite him doing everything he could to stay hidden from the crowds. But none of them met the price that Leonardo was asking.

Across the market was a merchant who was selling on horses and other animals. Most of them were nags, in worse condition than his Ruby had been in her old age and Sam found himself watching the rotating stock, something drawing him to one of the black mares at the back of the pen.

She turned and he saw it, a white patch on the front of her muzzle, shaped like a “K”. His heart leaped into his throat and Sam got to his feet, pushing past Gabriel to the front of the crate. His fingers seized the bars and the smaller man frowned at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“That’s my horse,” Sam muttered, reaching past the bars, stretching his hand out. Leonardo appeared in front of him, wielding the small flogger with a scowl on his face. “Please… that’s Impala…”

“Get back, boy, or I’ll have your skin,” Leonardo hissed.

Sam ground his teeth together, his jaw tensing with anger. “You want me to make you money? Fine. That horse, the black mare,” he spat, “she’s my horse. She was stolen from my family’s farm.” Leonardo looked back over his shoulder, looking for the animal Sam was pointing at. “Please,” Sam begged, his tone turning softer, eyes wide. Dean had always said his puppy dog eyes were irresistible.

Leonardo stared at the horse. “It’s a horse.”

“No,” Sam breathed, clinging to the bars. “Please, if you’ve got any humanity in you…”

“What’s in it for me, boy?” Leonardo sneered, holding up the flogger. “You gonna make yourself presentable? Encourage these buyers?”

“You could put me in the arena and I’ll kill any man you put against me,” Sam insisted, suddenly even more desperate to have his father’s horse. She was unlike any creature he’d ever known and seeing her was igniting a spark in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. “Let me go to her.”

Leonardo regarded him for a few moments, a calculating look in his eyes before he turned away without saying a word. Sam watched him leave, his heart sinking, until the merchant beckoned to the man selling the animals. “That horse,” he started, pointing at Impala, “how much?”

The other merchant, a tall blonde gentleman with a scar that covered half of his face, glanced at the horse and sneered. “That one? Nothing but trouble. We’re selling her for meat.” Leonardo glanced back at Sam, who shook his head.

“Let me,” he begged and Leonardo rolled his eyes, wishing he’d left the giant Elysium sleeping in the bushes. Hobbling back to the crate, he opened the door, keeping a tight grip on the flogger as he dragged Sam out by the cuffs. “Thank you,” Sam murmured and Leonardo snorted in disgust.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he grunted, shoving Sam towards the pen. “If you think she’s yours, prove it.”

The other merchant watched warily as Sam climbed over the pen fence, moving through the other horses to where Impala stood at the back. Her nostrils flared and she lifted her head, looking directly at him and Sam smiled, reaching out his cuffed hands. “Hey, baby,” he whispered softly, getting closer to her. “You remember me?”

Impala whinnied softly and Sam could see the injuries on her rump, her pure black flanks covered with scars. His heart broke and the horse huffed heavily as he placed his hand on her muzzle, right over her white marking. Her eyes closed and Sam leaned in, pressing his forehead against her soft cheek. 

“That’s it,” he muttered, just as Leonardo chuckled behind him.

“How much?”

“Seven silver pieces,” the other merchant said, a little dazed. “Less than I should probably charge but… she’s attacked anyone that came near her since I acquired her.”

Sam turned his head as Impala snorted and whinnied, following him to the edge of the pen. “Where did you acquire her from?” he asked and the merchant gave him a filthy look, like speaking to the slave was below him.

“She was abandoned on the road,” the man informed him, a sneer in his voice. “Only good for meat that one.” Sam wanted to wring his neck but Leonardo quickly intervened, tossing a small coin purse at the other merchant. “Glad to see the back of her.”

Sam’s fists clenched and Impala stamped her hoof into the ground, following him as Leonardo opened the gate. The horse tensed up as the old man approached but Sam shushed her. “He won’t hurt you, girl,” he reassured and Leonardo raised an eyebrow as she complied, a satisfied smirk stretching Sam’s lips. “I told you. She’s my horse.”

***** 

Night fell and the market emptied, leaving the merchants to gather round their fires. The slaves were chained to each pen and Sam was once again separated from Impala by a thin lined fence. She slept as close to him as she could but Sam wasn’t finding any rest. Within 24 hours, he’d gone from being on a rescue mission, to needing rescuing and although Impala had given him a bright spot, he was feeling more desolate by the moment.

His marks were itching like crazy, the skin raised around them like he’d been bitten by a mosquito. The pen contained only Gabriel and the other large slave Gadreel, which at least gave them a little room. Leonardo sat close by, stoking a fire with a stick as he tried to cook some broth.

“So, this brother of yours,” he started, getting Sam’s attention. “He an Elysium too?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, leaning his head back against the bars. He was desperately hungry, like they all were, and the broth Leonardo was cooking smelled delicious. “Legatus Alastair destroyed my family’s home and murdered my father.”

“And you intend to find him and free him?” Leonardo continued. Sam nodded, twiddling his thumbs together. “Legatus Alastair is an evil man,” he sighed. “I would like nothing more than to see that murderer and rapist strung up by his testicles.”

Sam chuckled at that. “If I get a chance…”

“No one is going to buy you,” the merchant sighed. “You’re something else. But I think, if I put you into the arena, you would win me a pretty penny, my boy.”

“I’ll fight, if it’ll earn my freedom,” Sam offered and Leonardo laughed sharply, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Aye,” the old man agreed. “It would.” He pointed at Impala, who snoozed happily, pressed up against the bars the opposite side of Sam. “She’s your responsibility. I think the only reason she hasn’t bit my cock off is because you said so. Odd horse.”

Sam chuckled, turning to look down at Impala. “You should see how she is with my brother,” he murmured and Leonardo grinned.

“Bloody Elysium,” he growled good-naturedly. “I’ll put you to fight, Sam Winchester. You win me the arena and I’ll give you your freedom.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was not a lover of early mornings. He’d never been one to rise early, despite his chores on the farm. Staying up late was much easier but it seemed he was no longer entitled to the freedoms of a Roman Citizen. In the few weeks since he’d been taken, he’d still not grown accustomed to the crowded cells, although they tended to keep him in a separate cage.

He missed his home. He missed his father. He had no idea if Sam was even alive. 

And the only thing he had to focus on was revenge.

Physical training was never his priority. The gods had gifted him with a body that women seemed to like with minimal upkeep, probably due to his Elysium heritage. But now every day was training, from dawn until dusk, and everything hurt. His physique was more impressive than it had ever been before and it only added to the thirst he felt for someone to pay.

“Dean,” a gruff voice caught his attention and Dean rolled over, grunted back at Benny as the older man grinned through the bars. “You didn’t look like you slept too well last night.”

Dean shook his head. “Haven’t slept properly in weeks, Benny.” He pushed himself up, leaning against the cage wall with his back to Benny’s. “Is it sunrise yet?” Most of the other captives were asleep but it wouldn’t be long before the guards would infiltrate the dark cells, forcing the men to their feet and out into the yard. Breakfast would be a gruel that was mostly protein and never tasted particularly nice but they were all hungry enough to eat it and fight over the scraps.

He’d seen men killed for an extra portion of food.

“Not quite,” Benny grumbled, pushing away one slumbering gladiator with his foot. “And Titus has been snuggling again.”

Dean chuckled under his breath. “He just thinks you’re a soft touch,” he replied and Benny snorted in irritation.

Underneath the training arena, it was easy to see when the sun had started to rise. There were gaps at the top of the walls, maybe small enough for you to stick a hand through, just enough for the sunrise to filter through and disturb them before the guards did. It was akin to the wakening of giants when most of the prisoners woke up.

Dean himself was considered large, coming in at over six feet tall. But some of the other men were literal beasts, brought in from far and unknown lands, most of them forced into slavery.

Most of them would die here.

Dean was determined he would not.

Bright light struck from the gaps in the walls and he got to his feet, waiting for the large doors to open and the guards to file in. He was always careful not to cause trouble – he’d seen one man pick a fight with a guard and he’d lost a hand, only to be fed to the starving tigers in front of an audience that clamoured for blood.

No one in Rome was human, as far as Dean was concerned. They enjoyed blood sports and the pain of others, they captured men who had done nothing to harm the Empire, and murdered innocent farmers.

Azazel and Alastair would pay for what they had done. He swore it on his father’s grave.

“Heads up,” Benny snapped, getting to his feet as the guards filled the corridor. The cells were opened and they all filed out into the yard where the gruel was served out in bowls. Dean scrunched his nose up as he tried to palate the awful rations, swallowing as quickly as he could.

Claudius was looking for trouble today. Dean knew the big man had it in for him, knew he wanted to face him in the arena but the Emperor was dragging it out, keeping them separate. Today was another story. The huge African warrior was left in the training arena, long after the meal had been served, watching Dean as he trained on the swords.

“You got a fan club, brother,” Benny muttered, landing a hard blow with the blade of his weapon and Dean blocked it just in time. “Claudius is out for your head.”

“He’s gonna have to wait until we’re in the arena,” Dean growled, barely sparing the darker man a glance as he blocked and parried Benny’s attack. He was already sweating profusely, exertion leaving his muscles with a glistening sheen and there was no hiding the scars on his torso in the tunic he’d had to push down to around his waist so he didn’t overheat. “And it won’t be my head rolling.”

Benny laughed at that, swinging his blade again. He missed completely, tumbling to the ground and Dean sniggered, offering his friend a hand up. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A bell rang, indicating that the guards were approaching the arena and all of the slaves scrambled to the edges, careful not to get caught out. The Roman guards were merciless, killing anyone they wanted for anything they wanted; so far, only Claudius remained immune, being the Emperor’s champion.

A troop of at least thirty marched in, coming to a halt in the middle of the arena and Dean’s stomach churned when he realized who exactly was leading them. Legatus Alastair – the man he’d watched kill his father and burn his home to the ground.

“Winchester,” the man sneered, removing his helmet to fix his pale eyes on Dean. Dean swallowed, his entire body shaking with rage at the sight of his father’s murderer. “You’ve been summoned.”

“Summoned to what?” he asked, unable to keep the scowl off of his face. Three soldiers marched forward at Alastair’s command, grabbing Dean where he stood and forcing him to his knees. He struggled but his weakened state meant he couldn’t hold his own against three men, and he went down, Alastair standing in front of him and withdrawing his sword.

Claudius smiled wickedly and Benny watched in horror, thinking they were about to execute Dean for literally nothing. “The princess has requested you,” Alastair sneered.

Dean’s eyes narrowed as the sword point pricked at his throat. “For what?”

“Mind your insolent tongue, boy,” Alastair snapped, the blade nicking Dean’s skin and allowing a drop of blood to escape. “Or I’ll have to tell my lady that there was an incident.” Dean didn’t speak again but he was playing out a thousand different scenarios of how Alastair would die at his hands. “On your feet,” the Roman ordered and Dean had little choice when the soldiers dragged him to a standing position.

He didn’t even have to chance to look back as they led him away.

*****

The inside of the Emperor’s palace was as luxurious as the outside and despite the forced bath they’d given him, Dean felt dirty. The soldiers had led him from the cells and out onto the street, shackling him so he couldn’t escape – not that he’d try with thirty strong, well-fed men behind him. Alastair made comments the entire way and Dean tried his best to block him out but he knew what he was heading for.

Sexual slavery. He was to be a concubine for the princess, the girl who had come to see him the other day with Azazel. She wasn’t his daughter, Dean knew that. He’d figured it out as soon as he’d sensed the Elysium markings on her. Elysium were pure, descended from the gods, marked to show their bloodline… it was the reason so few remained. The reason he’d never gone to war like Sam.

The reason his mother was dead.

Azazel was evil. He was twisted and cruel and Dean didn’t think for a second that Y/N was his daughter.

Now, he was stood in the atrium of the palace, surrounded by guards, still dripping wet from the forced cleansing and wearing little to cover his modesty. A strip of fabric was looped around his waist – one wrong move and he’d be exposing himself.

Of course, that was how concubines lived. He’d seen the females paraded around Rome before and the young boys that the old perverted senators kept for themselves.

Dean didn’t want to be one of them. He would rather die in the arena.

Alastair had disappeared, leaving Dean with his men. The chains remained around his hands, tightly binding them together so he couldn’t move much and he doubted they’d get removed. He had no choice in his own existence now and it made the rage in his veins burn brighter.

The soldiers stood straight when the doors at the far end of the atrium opened and Emperor Azazel swept in, his attendants surrounding him. The gold leaf crown on his head glinted in the lamplight around the room and Dean tried not to look at him for fear he might lose control and end up dead on the end of a centurion’s sword.

“Ah, you’ve brought him,” Azazel proclaimed, loudly and unnecessary. The soldiers didn’t move or say anything and Dean looked down at the floor when Alastair reappeared. “Is he prepared?”

“Yes, my lord,” Alastair provided, the cold calculating look on his face making Dean’s skin crawl. “Your daughter will be most pleased, I imagine.” Dean wanted to throw up. Azazel leered at him uncomfortably, making him feel more uncomfortable in his tiny slip of fabric. “He’s certainly improved his physical condition in the pits.”

Dean couldn’t help the way his features contorted in anger. It wasn’t a required improvement in condition – he’d been starved, beaten and left with nothing else to do but fight and exercise. Azazel fixed his eyes on Dean’s green ones, smirking. “Take him up, Alastair. Make sure she has two guards posted outside the door. If any harm comes to her…” His smile grew wider, eyes sparkling. “He will be executed publicly.”

There was no room for argument as Alastair pointed at two guards, instructing them to follow him as he pushed Dean through the atrium towards the long columned corridor. Azazel didn’t follow and when it was just the three of them, Dean briefly considered making a move – the legatus knew before he’d even thought of it.

The sharp point of a knife dug into his spine and Dean felt Alastair’s hand on his shoulder. “Please,” the creep sneered. “Give me a reason to sever your spine.”

Dean neither replied nor did he make any move, letting himself be guided along the corridor to an ornate wooden door, seemingly the only one in the entire palace. Alastair signalled one of his guards, who knocked on the door.

Y/N opened it, apparently shocked at the sight of her visitors. She glanced from the guard to Alastair, frowning. “What is this?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest indignantly.

“A gift from your father, my lady,” Alastair crooned, bowing slightly and it was obvious she was unnerved by the man. Dean couldn’t help but smirk a little, his amusement short-lived when Alastair pushed him forward with a hard shove, sending him almost sprawling to the ground. “My guards will remain outside in case you require assistance.”

She looked at Dean, perplexed, but it only took her a few moments to make her decision. Standing back, she reached out, taking hold of Dean’s cuffs and leading him gently into the bedroom. Before Alastair could say anything else, she made her feelings clear by slamming the door in his face.

“Are you okay?” she enquired, releasing her hold on him. He stood by the door, dumbstruck at the genuine concern in her voice. “I don’t bite,” she offered, smiling as she stood in front of him. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Er…”

Her face was almost mesmerizing. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman so beautiful in his life. A smile spread over her lips. “I wasn’t really expecting guests. I think… my father has an ulterior motive.””

Dean shrugged, shifting and trying to tug the material covering his modesty down, avoiding her eyes. “Don’t think I’m a guest,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “I’m a slave.”

“Not in this room,” she scowled. “He’s got no power in here, no matter how much he thinks he does.”

“You don’t honor your father, my lady?”

Y/N fixed him with a pointed look. “My father… Azazel believes Elysium were made for one purpose. To serve. I’m  happy to not agree on that subject.” She looked down at his coverings, frowning even harder than before. “I’m going to get you something wear while you’re here. You can’t stay like that.”

Dean didn’t say anything, watching her cross the room to a large chest, promptly dragging out some long reams of fabric. When she started to rifle deeper, looking for something specific, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I’m confused. Did you not request me? Am I not here to” he shuffled on his feet uncomfortably, “to serve you?”

Her face was slightly horrified as she turned back to him. “No, Dean. You’re not here to serve me. I don’t agree with slavery, no matter how much the Emperor cries for it.” She took a breath, absently touching the inside of her right forearm where he knew her marks lay.

Later, he’d claim he didn’t know what came over him, as he crossed the room and took her arm, pulling the fabric down to reveal smooth skin. He frowned, knowing she had the marks, sensing it even as he stood there, meeting her eyes slowly.

Y/N lifted her hand, licking her thumb before running it over the skin where her marks should have been. The minerals and clay her mother had taught her to cover them with wiped away with the moisture on her thumb and Dean’s eyes dropped.

On the inside of her forearm, nestled just below her elbow, were the same marks he’d carried since birth. The same marks that Sam had on his arm.

She was an Elysium, just like him.

“Now, you see,” she whispered, “why I could never agree with slavery.”

*****


	6. Chapter 6

It became a frequent occurrence for Dean to visit you every day. Your father seemed immensely pleased with the arrangement, probably believing you were indulging in the sins of the flesh but in reality, it was far from it. Every morning you would wake, bathe and dress, eat your breakfast and make sure there was plenty of fresh food leftover from the meal to take back to your room.

Dean would arrive just after midday, dressed in the ridiculously tiny strip of cloth and bathed. Alastair stopped accompanying him after the first week, which seemed to relax the man a little. As soon as the door was shut, you would offer him the clothing you’d hidden for him and Dean was always grateful for the thin tunic to cover himself.

He could never leave in it but it made him more comfortable in the time he spent with you.

You made sure he was eating properly and even after a few days, the effects were visible. He was stronger and faster, his wounds healed quickly although he didn’t let any of that show to the guards, in case they stopped his visitation. As long as they believed you were using him like a proper slave, nothing would change.

Two weeks in, he came to you bruised and flogged. Alastair was with him – there had been a fight in the pits and Dean had been punished for his insolence. You didn’t say anything to the legatus, not being able to stand the man, but you did dress all of Dean’s wounds, helping him to heal.

Over this time, he never gave up much information about himself, other than what had brought him to Rome and left him in slavery, and his hope that his brother was out there somewhere, safe from harm. The hope was thin – his brother was a soldier in the Roman army and he hadn’t heard from him in years.

He never got too personal. You’d learned that his father’s name was John, his mother was Mary and that she’d been murdered in his brother’s nursery when he was just a babe. John had never discovered what had happened and had kept his boys safe for as long as he could.

The brother was never mentioned by name but you knew he was an Elysium too.

Three weeks after the beating, Dean was put to fight in the arena and you were forced to watch. Azazel jeered at him, vocally expressing his hope for the man to die and you sat silently, every strike of his enemies making your stomach lurch uncomfortably. Penelope was much the same; she’d spent time with Dean too, and knew him too well to watch such violence.

Dean won his match, albeit with serious wounds to his body. The crowd cheered for him and he held his sword high in bloodied hands until the guards forced him back into the pens.

“Father,” you started, leaning over. “I do not think Dean should face Claudius.”

Azazel smirked. “Are you attached to our Elysium, dear daughter?” he asked and you shuddered in disgust. Yes, there was an attraction there but Dean was a slave held against his own will. You would never force him to do anything he didn’t want to. “He must be pleasing you.”

You looked away, trying not to throw up. “Yes, Father,” you muttered hanging your head, toying with the hem of your tunic. “I would like to see him tonight.”

The Emperor laughed loudly, shaking his head. “I’m afraid, my darling girl,” he spoke clearly, patting your hand, “that we leave for Cremona at dawn. So there will be no time for dalliances with your concubine this evening.” 

“Cremona?”

He nodded at your unaired question. “I hear tales of a gladiator, one who is defeating any enemy he faces. And I want to see him. See if he is worthy to face our champion.”

“What about Dean?” you asked, unable to hold the question back. “I thought you wanted him to face Claudius?” The Emperor stood, gesturing to his slave who promptly moved to aide him. “Father?”

“The Elysium will face Claudius. When I am satisfied with his progress.” He tutted, slapping the slave away when she wasn’t quick enough to respond to him. “Stupid bitch,” Azazel snarled and the girl cowered. A scowl crossed your face but you held your tongue. “Come, daughter. We will retire and leave for Cremona in the morning.”

*****

Azazel hadn’t been able to control you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper and he wasn’t about to start now. Once he’d imbibed enough wine, taking his slave harem to bed, you crept from the villa, past the inept guards and into the streets. Penelope was waiting for you and the both of you skulked through to the gladiator pits without seeing a single soul.

Getting in was harder than you thought but after a fight, there were less guards around. Penelope distracted one with her breasts, making it hard for you not to giggle, allowing you to run past him and into the cells. When you reached where you’d seen Dean, all you found was sleeping gladiators.

A large man you recognized, one who had fought in the arena the night before, reached out to you, awake unlike his comrades. “You’re the princess,” he drawled. “What brings you down here, cher?” His accent was strange, not like any you’d heard before and you approached his cell, wary of his reach through the bars.

“Dean,” you whispered.

The man smiled. “Dean’s over in the solitary pit. They keep us over there when we’re too weak to be in this mob.”

You frowned, drawing your head back. “He’s weak? How badly was he hurt?”

The man shrugged. “Haven’t seen him. I’m sure he’ll be stronger for seeing you.” He got to his feet, leaning against the bars and smirking. “Name’s Benny.”

“Well, Benny,” you started, “could you direct me to the solitary pit? I’d like to check on him.”

Benny’s grin widened. “You got it bad, cher?” he chuckled and you stared him out, folding your arms across your chest. “Go through the arena. There’s a passageway that leads down to the main pit and off to the left. No guards that way.”

“Thank you,” you whispered in reply and Benny gave a sort of two-fingered salute. Turning away, you crept away from him, keeping to the dark corners as you scurried across the arena. One guard was snoozing on the far wall, paying no mind to his duties and you easily snuck past him, slipping into the solitary pit.

Dean was in a bare cell, curled up in the middle of the floor with his arms covering his head. The cells either side of him were empty, although one had a particularly grisly looking patch of blood in one corner. You moved closer, dropping to your knees at the side of his cage.

“Dean,” you hissed, reaching through the bars, not able to touch him.

He didn’t move.

“Dean,” you repeated, voice a little more pleading this time. His arm flinched and slowly, he unfurled, showing you the mass of purple bruises, welts and gashes littered across his skin. One eye was almost swollen shut, the other bleary and a dull green that you weren’t used to. “Oh…”

Dean groaned, managing to crawl across the floor to you, stopping as he reached the edge and collapsing against the bars. “Y/N…”

“What have they done to you?”

He laughed mirthlessly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Jus’ what they wanted as usual.”

You shook your head, stroking his matted hair through the bars, wishing you could him properly, help him heal. “My father makes me travel to Cremona tomorrow,” you whispered, tears falling from your eyes, clinging to your lashes and blurring your vision. “He would not let me see you tonight.”

“So you snuck out, huh?” Dean chuckled, fixing his good eye on you and you cupped his face, cursing your limited movements. “Rebel.”

A smile curled your lip and you brushed dirt away from his bruised chin, prompting him to hiss in pain. “I can’t leave you like this,” you insisted. “What if something happens while I am gone?”

“Nothin’s gonna happen, princess,” he reassured you weakly, taking hold of your hand with his. “I’ll be waiting for you when you return. I promise.”

“Are you good at keeping your promises, Dean Winchester?” you asked, smiling a little more, sniffing your tears away and Dean managed to smile, squeezing your fingers before kissing their tips softly. “You need to heal. They’ll put you back in the arena tomorrow.”

“Just seein’ you,” he cleared his throat, rolling onto his back, exhausted by the effort, “makes me feel like a king.”

*****

Rome was a smudge on the horizon behind the carriage you rode in. Azazel had not let Penelope join you on the trip, although you felt slightly better that she would be able to check on Dean, smuggle him the herbs and food you’d promised. He’d told you not to be stupid but you knew Penelope was much more in tune with the workings of the guards and other slaves than you were.

Cremona was ten hours journey by carriage and you loathed having to spend that much time in such close quarters with your father. He spent most of his time reading parchment and you stared out of the window until you finally dozed off.

You hadn’t had much sleep the night before.

Hours after, you woke, unfamiliar with your surroundings. The carriage was travelling through a dark forest, dark even with the midday sun high above. Thick tree canopies shaded the ground and it seemed nothing grew but ivy and creepers.

The horses whinnied loudly, waking Azazel from his nap and he sat upright, stretching and looking out of the window. “Ahh, Sasso Fratino. We should be at our destination shortly. Just in time for supper.”

You sighed, keeping your eyes out of the window, watching trees give way to fields that eventually gave way to buildings as the carriage kept moving on the straight road. When Azazel pointed out Cremona in the distance, you sat up, trying to remember the last time you had been here.

“You were seven,” Azazel offered and you frowned, snapping your head round to look at him. Had you said that out loud? “Your mother was not long with the gods and we were visiting the magistrate here. I believe you were still carting that little doll around with you.”

“Tamitus,” you murmured, remembering the little fabric doll that your mother had given you when you were a child. “You burned him when I was of age.”

Azazel tipped his head slightly, not looking at you. “Not one of my finer moments. But you were a tempestuous teenager, dear daughter.”

You smirked, reminded of the hellion you’d become in those short few months you’d felt indestructible. Now, being an adult, you knew there were other ways to defy your Emperor. “Yes, father.”

Inside Cremona, the carriage kept moving, uncaring of anyone who got in the way. People yelled and shouted, threw things even, the soldiers keeping them at bay to protect the Emperor. Some people cheered in support and you tried to press yourself back out of sight, not wanting to be seen by anyone.

Azazel ignored the commoners, as he liked to think of them, inspecting his fingernails as the carriage went on past starving homeless people and slaves that were too old or too infirm to be kept by anyway.

The state of the Empire made you hate him even more.

At the entrance to the magistrate’s villa, there was a large courtyard, surrounded by high walls on each side. The carriage moved through the wooden gates and over the cobbles, the entry point quickly secured by soldiers, and when the vehicle came to a complete stop, you waited.

A slave opened the door, bowing and avoiding eye contact with your father and Azazel sniffed as he climbed out, lifting his chin high. You followed, trying to catch the slave’s eye to give him a smile but he stared at the ground.

There were bruises on his throat.

“My Lord Azazel!” a blond man strode down the pathway to them, opening his arms to the Emperor. You grimaced, recognizing him from when he’d attended Rome over the years. “It is an honor to host you and your daughter.”

Azazel smiled slowly. “Ramiel,” he greeted, gesturing to you where you stood behind him. “It is good to see you, old friend.” Ramiel laughed and the two men embraced, while you shuffled on the spot, wanting nothing more than an escape.

Ramiel was a cruel magistrate, one who delighted in the torture of slaves. His arranged fights in the arena were little more than a festival of slaughter and you didn’t want to be anywhere near him. “My sweet princess,” he crooned, turning his attention to you and it felt like your skin might physically detach itself and wriggle away. His fingers snagged your hand, bringing your knuckles up to his lips.

They were cold and slimy and you wanted to die.

“It has been too long,” he murmured.

You snatched your hand back, giving him a polite smile. “Hello, Magistrate Ramiel.”

“Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm which you promptly ignored, striding into the villa ahead of the two men. Ramiel laughed under his breath, nudging Azazel who watched you leave with a strange glint in his eye. “She is still very much the troublemaker, I see?”

Azazel sighed, walking slowly with his friend across the courtyard. “She will learn her place, Ramiel. It will just take time.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you intend to behave this way for our entire visit?” Azazel hissed to you, seating at his right hand for the meal. Around you, pompous old men chattered over their wine, sharing the copious amounts of food that seemed obscenely wasteful to you.

Your father waited for your response and you forced a sweet smile onto your face. “My apologies, Father. I’m tired from the travel.”

He frowned for a moment before straightening in his seat and picking up his chalice. “You may retire, if you wish. I doubt the entertainment will be to your liking.” You nodded and got to your feet, only for Azazel to grab your wrist, forcing you to look at him. “Only to your room, daughter. You remain there until I call for you.”

Swallowing, and fully intending to defy his wishes, you gave him another fake smile. “Of course, Father.” Leaning down, you kissed his cheek, feeling your insides curl at the scent of rose petals surrounding him. “Goodnight.”

The Emperor waved you off, releasing you and you turned away, avoiding Magistrate Ramiel at the far end of the table. Scurrying through the halls, you quickly headed for your room, locking the door and securing yourself inside.

It was only an hour or so before the men were preoccupied with their “entertainment” for the evening, which you could hear clearly from the open window. Down in the courtyard, three men were playing with a nude slave girl, passing her around between them. Your father and the magistrate sat off to the side, watching in amusement.

The moon hung low in the sky when the sounds of the evening died down and you remained in your room, wondering what to do. You were restless and worried about Dean, finding no reason for you to be with your father other than the forced separation between you and the gladiator. It made no sense when Azazel had pushed you together in the first place.

Morning came with little sleep and you were roused by the handmaidens, who assisted you with a bath and fresh clothing. None of them talked; they barely even smiled and you realized quickly that the slave girls were so unused to gentleness that they didn’t notice it when they received it. They were automatons, conditioned to their life.

It made you feel sick.

Spending the entire day being dragged from meeting to meeting, paraded as nothing more than eye candy, you started to understand why you were here. The Emperor was insistent that you meet every male in the vicinity and when he was constantly praising your skills and talents like he would never usually do, it struck you that he was trying to make a sale.

He was looking for a husband.

Of course, every male you met was wealthy, powerful, in command of their own forces. Some of them were loyal to the crown, others not far off being swayed. Azazel needed allies. You were his leverage in securing them.

The realization made you foul-tempered and by the time you were bustled into the arena, seating in the best spot, Azazel had grown tired of your resistance.

“You are not being particularly charitable today, daughter,” he ground out, barely paying attention to the preliminary matches. You, on the other hand, were entranced in the gore, imagining your father’s face on every dead body in the sand. “It would do you well to smile for our hosts.”

You snarled at him, finally tearing your eyes away from the bloody scenes below. “You are selling me off to the highest bidder! How did you think I would react?”

Amusement sparkled in his hideous eyes. “You are a princess and the only heir to the Roman Empire. Surely you did not expect to become a spinster.”

“Then why send me a concubine?” you demanded, folding your arms over your chest and scowling petulantly. “Why insist that I enjoy him? Wouldn’t a virginial princess be a more valuable bargaining chip?”

Azazel shook his head, relaxing in his chair, apparently unfazed that you had discovered his true motives for your company. “A virgin is always a temptation,” he mused, fixing his eyes on the match below. “But men like a woman, my dear daughter. And a woman must know how to appreciate her husband.”

You stared at him with your mouth wide open, shocked that his intention was for you to become skilled in the bedroom. “You are disgusting,” you growled. “You are my father -”

The Emperor sat up straight as the announcement for the main arena event echoed through the stands. You turned your head, staring at the gate, recoiling when Azazel took your hand. “I am also the Emperor of Rome. And I have to secure the future of this glorious Empire.” His eyes slid to you, a sly smile on his face. “You are the only way to do that, daughter. You will find a husband here.” He tugged your hand, pulling you forward. “Otherwise, I have no use for you.”

A lump formed in your throat and Azazel released you, focusing all of his attention on the fight. The challenger came out first and he was huge, at least seven feet tall, with thick dark hair covering most of his muscular body. The doors of the gladiator pen opened and the champion emerged.

Instantly your interest was piqued and you drank him in. He was tall, scarred, with long flowing hair that wasn’t a common choice for hairstyle in Rome. His arms were thick, broad shoulders bearing the weight of his shield, and he unsheathed a longsword, preparing himself for battle.

“Who is he?” you whispered and Azazel laughed under his breath.

“He is the champion,” he informed you. “They call him the Boy King. No man has brought him to his knees.” He raised an eyebrow, watching the way you stared at the big male. “Maybe, this one could defeat your whore?”

Your mind scrambled to attack your father for the dig at Dean but the Boy King had you mesmerized. He was fighting now, grace and compact muscle all bound together in that powerful frame and you knew that the opponent stood little chance. “You want to bring him to Rome?” you asked.

“I see I’ve found something to keep you entertained,” he murmured. “He will come to Rome and face the Elysium.” He sat back once more, lacing his fingers together. “Maybe he’ll kill him.”

Fright curled into your heart and turned it cold as Azazel laughed behind you, his scheming and plotting no doubt involving you in whatever way it could. Did he know of your connection with Dean? Did he know you cared for him?

Below, the Boy King killed his opponent with ease, leaving him broken and bloodied in the dirt. There was barely a scratch on him.

Dean would die if he had to face this beast, you were sure of it. But Azazel would see to it that they fought. You felt tears in your eyes as your father got to his feet and motioned to Ramiel, sat behind him. “Come! I wish to meet your champion!”

*****

His name was Sam and you knew, the second you stepped into the room with him, that he was an Elysium. The marks on his arms were not visible underneath the blood and you could feel it, like a vibration under your skin. How had another come to be in the gladiator arena?

Azazel distracted your attention, gesturing to the bound warrior. “Your opinion, daughter? Is he just as entrancing as he was from your seat?” The smirk on his face was twisted and you tried not to look at him. “Magistrate Ramiel,” he continued and the rat-like sycophant scurried forward to his master. “Would you have the boy cleaned and sent to my daughter’s room?” 

Ramiel tilted his head, failing to catch on for a few seconds before a lewd grin crossed his face. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You narrowed your eyes, shooting Azazel a glare as he moved closer, standing behind you. “I’m aware,” he started, pulling your hair back over your shoulders, exposing your throat. The warrior’s eyes were focused on you, his gaze suspicious. “- that your concubine has not been performing the expected duties.” Hot breath tickled your bare shoulder and you felt like you might vomit. “Maybe this one will break you in.”

“He’ll kill me,” you whispered, even though you knew it to be a lie. Azazel didn’t seem concerned.

“No, he won’t,” he sneered. “You will learn your place, Y/N. I will do it myself if I have to.” The threat was all too clear and bile curdled in your belly. Azazel turned as Ramiel entered the room once more. “Magistrate?”

“He will be cleaned and prepared. His master, Leonardo, wishes to speak with you.” Azazel nodded at the smaller man, flashing you a grin.

“Would you accompany my daughter back to her room? I expect she would like to rest before the boy is brought to her.” The gladiator’s face flinched when Azazel called him “boy” for the second time and you wondered if he even knew who the man was.

“Of course,” Ramiel prostrated and took your arm.

Azazel disappeared out of sight and you didn’t resist when Ramiel started to guide you along, not speaking to you until you were back in the designated room. The key turned in the lock after he shut the door and you sagged onto the bed, locked away like Azazel tended to do when he was angry with you.

Sleep wasn’t an option and you couldn’t see a way to climb down from the window without breaking your neck. The magistrate’s home was huge, one of the few with several stories, letting it tower above the rest of Cremona. You thought he was probably overcompensating for something he was lacking.

Nearly an hour later, the door opened and the Boy King was pushed into your room, dressed in a similar fashion to how Dean was normally presented to you. He looked nervous and angry, bruises blossoming on his skin from his earlier fight.

And on the crook of his elbow, uncovered, was the Mark Of Elysium. Silver and almost shining and you rushed forward, reaching out to touch him.

The man stumbled back, almost losing his footing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded angrily and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not that,” you informed him dryly. “And don’t yell, the guards will come back in.”

“Why would you care if they came back?” the warrior replied. “I was almost out of here, then you come along and that spineless fuck Leonardo sells me on.” You blinked, shocked at the revelation. “So no offense lady but you just ruined my chances at freedom because your pussy got a itch it can’t scratch.”

Shaking your head, you refuted his claim, reaching out again. “It’s got nothing to do with that. Don’t you feel it?” Your fingers closed around his forearm, dragging it forward. He tried to withdraw, freezing when he realized you were just as strong as him. You didn’t seem to notice his confusion, tracing your digits over the silvery scar on his elbow.

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, the earlier anger fading away.

You rolled your sleeve up and offered him your arm, showing him your mark. His eyes went wide and he stared at it, shock replacing confusion in his eyes. “I’m Y/N,” you offered quietly.

“I’m Sam,” he responded, meeting your gaze. “But… you’re the princess.”

“Azazel doesn’t know what I am,” you shrugged. “I’m starting to think if he did, he’d be bargaining a better price for me.” Sam frowned, tilting his head to the side. “He’s forcing me to get married. One of these doddering old senators needs a wife. And Father thinks I need to be trained.”

The perplexed expression on Sam’s face was rather adorable. “Trained?” he asked. “Trained in what?”

You giggled, wondering if he was still innocent. He looked to be of age, just by the sheer size of him, but maybe he was a little naive in the ways of women. “Where are you from, Sam?” He hesitated at the question and you drew back. “What?”

“You’re the princess,” he repeated. “Azazel is your father. I… I couldn’t trust you if I wanted to. They told me that I was to come in here and fuck you. That I could be as rough as I liked.” You couldn’t stop the shudder that shook your frame or the arousal that slicked down your thighs. Sam groaned at the change of scent in the room and the small scrap of cloth he was wearing was not enough to cover his erection in the slightest.

“They told you that?” you choked out and Sam nodded. “What if I screamed?”

“I don’t think they’ll do anything,” he murmured back, approaching you slowly. “Your father killed my father,” he sneered and you frowned up at him. “Maybe I should kill you in retaliation.”

With a shake of your head, you held one hand out, pressing your palm against his chest. “They’ll kill you. Even if you’re an Elysium, you can’t fight the entire Roman army on your own.” Sam didn’t stop coming, backing you up to the bed. “What if I wanted my father dead too?”

Sam smirked, looking amused. “He’s not your father anyway,” he commented, stopping right in front of you. You imagined you could feel his cock prodding you through the material barely covering it. No man had ever inspired this sort of need in you - Sam was practically soaked in pheromones. “No man like that could make something as pure as you.”

His words echoed from a similar sentiment you’d heard before and before you could stop it, Dean’s name rolled off of your lips. Sam froze, meeting your eyes. 

“What did you say?” he demanded quietly.

“Dean,” you repeated. “Dean said something like that too.”

“You’ve seen my brother?” Sam asked, grabbing hold of your shoulders and your eyes went wide.  _ This _ was Dean’s brother? “Where is he, where -”

“Rome,” you blurted out, pushing him off. “He’s alive, he’s… Sam, you need to get out of here -”

The door burst open, the guards filling the room, preceding the Emperor’s dramatic entrance. “I’m afraid our presence has been requested in Rome, dear daughter,” Azazel announced, directing the guards to Sam and the Elysium gladiator struggled. Your robes slipped down, exposing your arm and the yellowed eyes of your “father” landed on the mark there. “Take him away,” he ordered.

“Sam!” you screamed, only to find Azazel’s hand around your throat. Your fingers clutched at his wrist, trying to free yourself as Sam struggled uselessly against the guards, disappearing down the hallway and leaving you alone with the Emperor.

Azazel laughed. “Don’t worry,” he purred, pulling you close. “You’ll see Sam again. When he’s facing his brother in the arena.”


	8. Chapter 8

You’d been locked in your room for three days. Azazel had posted his best guards at your door and secured the balcony so you couldn’t sneak out. He hadn’t said a word about your exposed mark which had only led you to believe that he had already known.

Or maybe he’d just suspected. Like you’d long suspected he wasn’t your father.

Penelope had tried to see you and the guards had taken her away. You didn’t know where she was but without her, you felt lost. She was your best friend, your  _ only _ friend. The only way you could find out if Sam and Dean were alive.

Did they know they were to battle each other?

Sam must have known that the Elysium in Rome, the one he was to face, was his own brother? He had to know. But if they didn’t fight, Azazel would only set the tiger on them.

The door opened and you scurried into the corner, wishing you had something to arm yourself with. Two guards entered the room, flanking Azazel, who quickly dismissed them, leaving you alone with him.

“Your mother tried to have me killed,” he started, wandering around the room, inspecting your various trinkets and possessions. “When I realized she was becoming bolder, more protective of you, I had to take action. It was such a shame to watch her succumb to the poison but quite necessary.” Anger curled in your belly and Azazel glanced at you with a smirk. “If she would have let me put a child inside her, you would have been spared all of this.”

“You’re a murderer,” you spat. “My mother never would have laid with you.”

Azazel laughed heartily. “Oh, but she did. Many times,” he leered. “But she’d ruined herself. And she had no more use.”

You clenched your fists at your sides, wanting to rip his eyes out. “Why are you doing this? You raised me -”

“I groomed you,” he corrected. “Or at least, I tried. The Elysium were supposed to breed you, dear  _ daughter _ . As much as I would have liked to have stepped up to the task, the only thing that can breed Elysium is Elysium.” He tilted his head, the creepy smile still on his face. “And yours is a dying race. Imagine my surprise when I find an Elysium in the arena?”

“And now you have two.”

“Oh yes,” he chuckled. “. I didn’t think either of them had survived the fire I set to kill their mother.”

Shock changed your expression and you reeled back against the wall. “Why? Why did you kill her?”

Azazel sat on the bed, patting the spot next to him. “If you want a story, come and sit next to me.” You shuddered in disgust, making him laugh. “Now, now, Y/N. Unless you want me to become very unpleasant, you’ll do as you are told.”

Stubbornness had you rooted to the spot and Azazel growled impatiently.

“Mary Winchester was a friend of your mother’s. She knew your father was Elysium… you’re like rats, once you find your community, you just  _ breed _ . When I realized that your superior strength and healing would easily allow you to oppose the throne, I took action.” His gaze darkened. “It is only fortune and their father’s skills that kept them from the purge.”

“You… you tried to kill them too?”

The Emperor smiled. “I killed every Elysium woman and child in the Roman Empire. Suspicious fires, bandits - I got creative. The only child left - or so I believed - was you.”

“My mother -”

“Was protecting you.” He stood up. “I will assign you a handmaiden to bathe and dress. There is an important event I wish for you to be present at this evening.”

“I will not do anything you ask!” you growled, defiantly stomping your foot.

Azazel turned slowly, fixing his eyes on you. “Penelope, your little Grecian friend, is currently being held in the cells. You can do as I ask or I can arrange for her rape and torture to last a  _ very _ long time.” Your eyes widened and you swallowed, knowing he wasn’t lying. “You will attend the arena tonight. And whichever brother survives,” he paused by the door, smiling to himself, “will get to breed you.”

*****

Sam had been locked in the cage for days. He was thirsty, hungry and angry. But no matter how much he yelled and rattled at the bars, no one came. Eventually, he fell asleep, too exhausted to do anything more.

The sound of a key in the lock roused him and he didn’t have much time to react before he was hauled to his feet, coming face to face with an angry looking guard. “The Emperor says you fight tonight.”

“Fight?” Sam spluttered, promptly receiving a punch to the stomach. “I haven’t eaten for two days!”

Behind the guard, another man entered, dropping a tray onto the floor. It was meager rations like those given to soldiers in the field and Sam eyed it in distrust. “It’s not poisoned, boy. Emperor wouldn’t kill the entertainment like that.” The guard leered, grabbing Sam’s hair and tilting his head back. “Be a waste of money.”

The other man’s breath was fetid and Sam cringed as he got closer, holding him tightly, despite the significant height difference between them. “He also told me to tell you - if you don’t fight, she dies.”

They released Sam without further interaction, laughing as they walked away. The food looked disgusting but Sam was hungry enough to choke it down, barely tasting it as it warmed his belly, steadfastly ignoring the thoughts of the girl, Y/N. When he was done, he stood up, trying to get a bearing on his situation.

These were cells not unlike the ones he’d been held in in Cremona. Thick iron bars, stone walls - blood and other gore splattered over them. He knew he was in Rome, most likely underneath the arena. And if he was correct, Dean was here somewhere.

At least he’d gotten where he wanted to be, even if he’d been betrayed by a man he should never have trusted and had once again been separated from Impala. If she wasn’t dead already, Sam would be surprised. For a second, he lamented the loss of his companion Gabriel - the man had become a friend in the short time Sam had known him.

His captors expected him to fight tonight. Fight who? He’d defeated every champion that had come before him. The name Claudius had been mentioned before his kidnapping - was that the man he was to face? Now, he wished he’d paid more attention to the gossip of the guards and other fighters.

It didn’t matter who they put him against. Sam would win, he wouldn’t see the Elysium girl die. Somehow.

*****

Dean sat on the floor of his cell, tapping his wooden spoon against his thigh. Benny was leaning against the bars, humming a tune as he picked at a piece of straw. Neither of them had anything to do but wait - tonight, Benny would face Claudius and Dean would face the challenger from Cremona.

Benny wasn’t optimistic about his chances against the significantly larger gladiator. Dean wasn’t entirely comfortable with his, even if his opponent was unknown.

“You hear that?” Benny asked, looking up at the ceiling of the cells.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, discarding his spoon. “The crowds are here. It’ll be time soon.”

The older man smirked, running his fingertips through the scruff on his chin. “My maker awaits.” He got to his feet, stretching himself out against the bars. “It’s the waiting that’s the worst bit.” Dean huffed, remaining on the floor as Benny started to pace, his nerves getting the better of him. “My grandfather used to say that was the worst part of any battle. Waiting for it to start. Once you’re in there, the adrenaline takes over -”

“Benny,” Dean interrupted. “You’re wasting energy getting worried over nothing.”

“I’m facing Claudius,” Benny retorted dryly, stopping to stare at his friend on the floor. “And I’m not an Elysium warrior. Hell, before I came here, the only thing I’d ever wielded was a fishing rod.”

Dean chuckled, looking up at the man he’d come to call brother. “Then imagine him like a big fish.”

The doors at the far end of the cells opened and Dean scrambled to his feet, remaining by the wall as Benny backed up into a similar position. Alastair walked down the corridor, running the edge of his sword along the bars of the cages. “Well,” he drawled, stopping in front of Benny’s cell, “nervous, boys?”

Neither of them responded and the legatus smirked, laughing under his breath. Motioning to one of the guards, he stepped back and allowed Benny’s cage to be opened. Benny was shackled and dragged away but Alastair remained, standing in front of Dean’s prison, staring at him with hideously milky eyes.

“I have a message from the Emperor,” he said slowly and Dean tilted his chin up, still not replying, which Alastair expected. “If you do not take up arms and fight your opponent tonight, the girl will die.” Dean’s heart stopped in his chest and Alastair grinned. “And it won’t be slow. I suspect he’ll give her to me.”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Dean growled under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. Whatever had happened in her time away, clearly Azazel had figured out what Y/N was,  _ who _ she was. Which meant he would not hesitate to kill her.

The legatus laughed out loud this time, clutching his belly as he sheathed his sword. “You’re not a threat, Elysium.” He stepped closer to the cage bars, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ve often wondered how loudly our little princess could scream. And they do say that Elysium pussy is the best pussy a man could have.”

Dean lunged forward, snarling like an animal but Alastair was quick to dodge the attack. “I’m gonna rip your fucking lungs out,” Dean snapped, almost frothing at the mouth.

“Good luck with that,” Alastair replied, turning away with no concern on his face. “Just remember that if you don’t fight, she dies.”

*****

You were sat at Azazel’s right hand like always, in the same seat you’d occupied since you were old enough to attend the gladiator events. Except this time, your hands were bound and you were gagged, unable to do or say anything. Azazel had ordered the Imperial Box emptied, leaving just him, Legatus Alastair and you.

There had been two matches, two deaths and now, you were helplessly watching Benny succumb to Claudius’ mace, the larger man certain to win the duel. Benny was bloodied beyond recognition and Azazel growled in irritation as the fight dragged on.

“You want me to release the tiger, my lord?” Alastair asked, his tone overflowing with anticipation and you felt like you were going to throw up as Benny took a hit, landing on his belly and spitting blood into the sand. It would almost be a relief when he finally died but Claudius was just as vicious and violent as his masters.

“No,” the Emperor replied in a bored voice. “Was this one of your little slave friends?” he prompted and you stared at him with wide eyes, unable to answer even if you wanted to. Azazel smirked, stroking the arm of his chair. “Claudius will end it soon.”

The arena cheered and roared, calling for death and Claudius showboated, flinging his arms wide and appeasing the crowd. Benny gasped in the sand, trying to get to his feet. His hands closed around a spear and as Claudius raised his sword for the killing blow, Benny flipped, thrusting the spear up blindly.

Blood spurted out as the sharp tip went through Claudius’ throat, catching the dark man by surprise. His eyes bulged and blood trickled from his lips, his hands loosening and allowing his sword to clatter to the floor. Benny managed to get to his feet, watching Claudius drop like a stone, a rapidly growing pool of blood congealing the sand.

For a second, there was nothing but silence, until the crowd went wild. Azazel slammed his hand down, making you jumped and Alastair stared in shock. “Enough!” the Emperor screeched and the crowd went quiet again, just as the announcer shouted out for the main event.

Relief that Benny had survived was short-lived when the centurion dragged him off, abandoning Claudius’ body in the ring. The doors closed and you stared in horror, knowing you were about to see Sam and Dean fight. You didn’t know too much about their shared history, except that Dean had loved his brother, had raised him. Maybe Sam hated Dean, maybe they would fight until the bloody end.

“You delivered my message, I trust,” Azazel commented, leaning over to his table and popping a grape into his mouth. Alastair nodded, his evil smile making you feel sick to your stomach.

“I did, my lord.”

“Good. Then this shall be interesting.” The man who’d posed as your father for so long sat back, his focus on the arena as the announcer started to pump up the crowd. Slowly, the doors started to open from either side of the arena and you leaned forward, tugging at your bindings.

The dust in the arena cleared and Dean looked around, seeing you in the Imperial box, gagged. He rushed forward, the chain around his ankle stopping his advance. Lines of centurions marched out, surrounding him and his opponent in a ring. Dean turned, laying eyes on his opponent for the first time.

His jaw dropped, mimicking his brother’s shocked expression and he bolted forward again, the chain allowing him to reach Sam easily. The spectators roared, thinking the battle was on and your heart leapt into your throat. Dean stopped just short of Sam, staring up at him in amazement.

Emperor Azazel chuckled, knowing this was the first time the brothers knew who they were facing and wondering which would emerge as champion. You could feel tears in your eyes as you started trying to scream through the gag.

Alastair hit you hard enough to render you silent and Azazel stood up, ignoring your rolling head and glazed eyes. He walked to the balcony edge, smiling indulgently down at the Winchester brothers. “To the victor go the spoils!”

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s and he lifted his sword, prompting Dean to do the same. You lifted your head, trying to focus on what was happening.

Azazel lifted his arms wide. “Let the battle begin!”


	9. Chapter 9

“Sammy,” Dean murmured. “We don’t have to fight.”

Sam fixed his gaze on his brother, stepped back into a defensive posture. “What else do we do, Dean?” His eyes darted around the centurions surrounding them before landing on the Imperial Box and Azazel’s smirking visage. “He will kill her. We can’t fight thirty soldiers by ourselves.”

Dean shrugged. “I’d rather try that than kill you.”

“Who says you’d win?” Sam teased, smiling at him. The chains around their legs prevented them from much movement, just an indicator of how much the Emperor feared them if they were together. “You seem to have built up a little muscle at least.”

“Gruel and duel,” Dean quipped back, thrusting his sword forward in a lazy arc, one that Sam easily dodged like intended. “It’s all a growing boy needs. Apparently.”

Spinning on the spot, Sam brought his sword down to clash with Dean’s shield. The impact barely fazed the elder brother, who instantly swept his blade towards Sam’s ankles. Sam jumped, avoiding the blow, knowing exactly what was coming next.

He remembered this dance too well.

“Plan?” Dean asked and Sam scowled, taking Dean’s legs out from underneath him, bringing his shield down like he was going to crush his brother’s throat. Dean’s fingers grabbed the edge, holding it off of his windpipe, acting like he was struggling when Sam wasn’t putting any weight behind the blow.

“I’m thinking,” Sam growled out, playing it up when Dean’s lower body twisted and sent him flying as far as the chain would allow. The audience loved it, believing they were witnessing an actual fight rather than the well-practiced gladiator routine of two starry-eyed little farmer boys.

Dean fumbled his next strike, the blade sliding along the side of Sam’s shield, nicking the flesh of his bicep as it went and Sam hissed, glaring at his brother. With a shrug, Dean continued his assault, until Sam used the weight of his shield to throw his brother into the centurions. They struck out and Dean quickly scrambled away from their spears and booted feet.

He charged at Sam, taking him off of his feet, both of their weapons discarded as they rolled in the dirt, chain tangling their legs together. “Fisticuffs,” he grunted and Sam yelled out when Dean headbutted him.

“That’s not your fist,” Sam snarled, rolling them so he was on top, throwing wild punches that barely connected but looked like they did. “Guards by the Imperial Box,” he snapped, attempting to throttle Dean again.

Dean grabbed hold of Sam’s thumbs bending them back enough to make him shout in pain and release his brother. Lunging for his sword, Dean turned, bringing the metal around. It connected with Sam’s sword hard enough to send a spark into the air and the crowd roared.

“Chains,” Dean growled.

Sam glanced back, giving Dean an in and he narrowly avoided a blow to the shoulder. “Can you break it?” he gasped, jabbing at his brother’s face with the butt of his sword. Dean stumbled backwards, clutching his face and dropping his shield.

“Yeah,” he barked, reaching down and grabbing his piece of chain. The centurion didn’t flinch as Dean wrapped the long length of chain around his arm until it was taut, revealing where it was tethered. He would have to time it just right -

“Hey!” One of the soldiers realized his plan; Sam dropped his shield and Dean roared before they could react, propelling himself forward, not stopping when the chain tried to restrict him. The metal groaned and cracked; Dean’s shoulder popped out of its socket and Sam connected with him from behind, snapping both chains and sending them tumbling to the ground.

Dean groaned loudly, shoving Sam off as the centurion advanced. “That worked. Fuck.” They got to their feet just as the Emperor screamed an order for his soldiers to halt. Dean glanced at Sam, clutching his shoulder and panting heavily. “Maybe he’s impressed?”

“I doubt it,” Sam muttered.

Emperor Azazel motioned for something and Y/N came into view. She was bound as well as gagged and Dean snarled, seeing Alastair behind her. “My daughter is a traitor to the Empire. No one is above the law of the gods or the rule of the senate!”

“He’s gonna kill her,” Sam realized and Dean’s snarls became almost primal. “Dean…”

“She’s Elysium,” Dean snapped.

“I know!” the younger brother replied. “She’s why I’m here.”

Y/N was struggling now, fighting against Alastair’s hold and the older legatus was finding it difficult to subdue her. Azazel grabbed for her, distracting her attention. He shoved her hard and she toppled over the balcony, dragging Alastair with her.

“No!” Sam roared, just as the Emperor gave the order to kill.

*****

You hit the ground with a cry of pain. The sand cushioned your fall a little but Alastair landed heavily on top of you and you felt at least one rib break. Pushing him off hurt more but you were thankful that the 15ft drop hadn’t killed you.

Alastair groaned, one wrist bent at an unnatural angle, and you quickly got to your feet, wincing when pain wracked your body. Behind you, the centurions were advancing on the Winchesters and you didn’t have a clue what to do.

“Stupid bitch,” Alastair spat, cradling his wrist as he stumbled to a standing position, leaning heavily against the wall.

Your foot hit something as you backed away from him and you looked down, seeing a discarded sword, still wet with blood from one of the fights. Swooping down on it, you slit the ropes around your wrists and held the weapon aloft, trying to ignore the lancing agony in your ribs.

The legatus laughed at your bravado, taking a few jagged steps towards you. “Do you think you can fight, little girl?”

You tore the gag from your mouth. “I think you’re injured,” you commented, your entire body shaking with adrenaline. It dulled the pain and helped you stand a little taller. “And I’ve had some practice.”

He laughed again, lurching towards you but you dodged him easily, finding the sand easy to balance on. Alastair growled in frustration, diverting his attention towards the two Elysium males. The centurions had them surrounded - they couldn’t hold off thirty men for long. “Do you think they will help you?” he sneered. “The Emperor will have their heads for display pieces.”

You bared your teeth, not letting him distract you. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Try your best,” Alastair snarled, pouncing at you again. You fell backwards into the sand, shrieking when he managed to avoid your sword and pinned you down. Seizing his injured wrist, you twisted it and Alastair yelled in agony, rolling off of you.

“Y/N!”

Sam’s voice rang out just as the door opened again, slaves flooding the arena. In the front, a short blonde man was uncomfortably atop a black stallion and Dean recognized the beast instantly. “Baby!” he cried, slicing the throat of one centurion and moving onto the next.

You turned towards the bigger fight, reaching for your sword again but Alastair’s good hand grasped your ankle, hauling you back down into the dirt. “I’m going to kill you, whore,” he spat, his nails digging into your foot.

With a cry of rage, you swung the sword, using as much strength as you had but your aim was off. The blade embedded in the side of Alastair’s skull and his eyes rolled back. Blood and brains trickled down his face where the sword was slipping free and you fought to get away from his twitching body as he died slowly in the sand.

An outraged cry from the balcony above you made you look up, meeting Azazel’s angry gaze. The centurions behind you were falling to the freed slaves as the crowd turned on each other, cries of rebellion spilling through the thousands gathered.

The Emperor disappeared and you knew he was going to try and escape.

“Dean!” you screamed, dragging his attention from the soldier he was fighting. One jab and the man went down, clutching his belly and trying to hold his guts in. Dean sprinted to your side, pulling you flush against his body and kissing you hard. It was unexpected but welcomed and you smiled when he broke away, panting heavily.

Alastair’s slow death continued behind you. “You did good,” Dean murmured as Sam approached. “We’ll talk about how you two know each other later,” he promised, putting his back to you as the slaves finished the soldiers off. The blond man approached and Sam smiled, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“Gabriel!” he greeted, slapping the other man on the shoulder. “What are you doing in Rome?”

“It’s a rebellion, Sammy!” Gabriel replied joyously. “Brought your horse with me. She bites.”

Impala trotted up to Dean, snorting in Gabriel’s direction. The elder Winchester stroked her nose, smiling happily. “Thought I’d lost you girl,” he murmured and she whinnied at him.

Gabriel stared at you, smiling. “You need to keep yourself somewhere safe. You’re the heir to the Empire - Azazel will want you dead.”

“I kinda noticed,” you snarked back. “But Azazel took off. He’ll go back to the palace.” Sam nodded, looking at Gabriel, who didn’t stop grinning. “I have to go to the dungeons.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to you, his eyebrows high. “What? Are you crazy?” Impala stomped her foot on the ground impatiently.

“Penelope. She’s my only friend. I can’t leave her in the hands of that monster.”

Sam reached out, touching your arm softly. “If we bring down Azazel, the soldiers will comply with your orders. We can save her but -”

“You’re asking me to leave her to be tortured so I can hide like some weak little girl?” you snarled, dragging yourself out of his hold. “I will not hide in my room anymore!” You turned, sprinting away from them. Dean started to give chase but Gabriel whistled loudly.

“She’ll be fine,” he dismissed. “Trust me. Azazel is more dangerous than you believe.”

*****

It didn’t take long to discover that there was no one in the dungeons. You sprinted back through the passages to the palace, utilizing your knowledge of the building to get in, avoiding the guards. There were far more of them than there had been before and you knew that the city was about to change drastically.

The empire was about to change.

Azazel was in his chambers and you scaled the wall outside, balancing on the thin ledge to peer in the window. He was pacing, angry; his face was beet red. “You should have tried harder. Should have told me what was going to happen.”

“I didn’t know!” Penelope cried from the bed and your heart broke. There wasn’t a scratch on her. “Please, sire, I told you everything she told me. I don’t believe she knew of the underground movement.”

“And what of the Elysium? Did they know they were to face each other?” Azazel demanded and Penelope shrugged. His rage propelled him forward and you winced when he slapped the girl around the face, making her burst into tears. “You lie to me, whore!”

Your foot slipped and you struck out, clutching the window ledge, drawing their attention to you.

Azazel’s lips stretched into a sadistic grin. “My dear  _ daughter _ ,” he sneered, marching over to the window and grabbing hold of the back of your tunic, he hauled you into the room, letting you slump to the floor. “Where are your protectors?”

You looked up at him scowling and Penelope scrambled off of the bed, running for the door.

“Are you leaving, my dear?” Azazel growled and Penelope froze. “Because that would be unwise.”

“N-no,” Penelope stuttered and you got to your feet, ready to fight with fists if needed. “Y/N -”

Azazel chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s so pathetic. Yet so loyal. To me,” he jeered at you and your anger only grew. “All your little secrets were never safe,  _ daughter _ .” You raised your chin defiantly. “And now, I will have to improvise.”

You swallowed, hearing commotion in the hallway. Neither Azazel or Penelope seemed to hear it and you frowned, knowing you needed to stall him. “Improvise how?”

He advanced, pressing you against the wall and nightmares of his temper, of growing up around a volatile and ignorant man, held you steady. “I can’t breed an Elysium out of you,” Azazel murmured, placing his hand around your bare throat. “But I can still breed you. A true heir will have to suffice, as I won’t have an Elysium to control.”

Disgust made bile rise in your throat and Azazel pressed his mouth to the corner of yours. Every cell in your body wanted to fling him away, to burn off his touch and all memory of it. 

“Yes,” he hissed, his hand moving up to cup your cheek.

Swiftly, you pulled your knee up, catching him right in the balls and Azazel went statue still, his face slowly turning purple as he struggled to breathe through the pain. Penelope shrieked and opened the door, running away just as the two guards were tackled off of their feet.

You reached into Azazel’s tunic, pulling out the dagger he kept there. “You murdered my mother,” you snarled. “I should have done this a long time ago.” 

“Y/N!” Your attention went to the sound of your name and Azazel took his chance, grabbing your wrist and twisting it so the dagger fell from your grip. Sam tumbled into the room, a guard in his hold, trying to escape the choking force of his arm.

“Stop right there!” Azazel threatened, his hand around your throat again, forcing you back toward the window. “I will let her fall to her death. Maybe she survived the arena but she wouldn’t survive the fall from here. She’ll be impaled on the gates.”

Dean skidded to a halt behind his brother. “Let her go!” he yelled impulsively.

“Why would I do that?” the Emperor ground out. “Because of your little rebellion?”

“We weren’t involved in that,” Sam replied, holding up a hand, sheathing his sword. You struggled, tearing at Azazel’s fingers, trying to pry them off of your throat. “We just want her.”

Azazel grinned. “Get in line,” he spat and Dean growled, his entire body tense with the need to kill. “One little push -”

You launched yourself backward and clung to Azazel, dragging him with you. His free hand shot out and clutched the window frame as he tried to shake you off of his arm, letting you dangle menacingly over the courtyard and the spiked gates below.

Sam and Dean cried out, rushing to the window as the older man tried to drop you repeatedly but you held on tightly. Dean looped his arm around the Emperor’s throat, cutting off his airway as Sam dragged him to the floor, allowing you to grab hold of the ledge again and climb back into the room.

“Guards!” Azazel choked out, fighting to free himself from Sam’s grip. “Guards!”

No one came. You straightened, spotting Sam’s sword. “Can I borrow that?” you asked and he nodded, handing it over with a confused frown. Lifting it with a grimace of pain, you hoisted it over your shoulder and brought it down, cutting off Azazel’s surprised gasp as his head detached from his body.

Dean and Sam stared, open-mouthed, as Gabriel strutted into the room, an impressed expression on his face when he saw Azazel’s head roll off to the side.

“That was satisfying,” you sighed, handing the bloodied sword back to Sam.

“That was kinda anti-climatic,” Dean pointed out. “I mean, I know he was just an old man but -”

You shuddered. “Please… don’t.” Your face was twisted in disgust and Gabriel chuckled. “So, what’s this about a rebellion?”


	10. Chapter 10

A soft knock on your door made you sit up from your bed. “Come in,” you called and the door opened. Gabriel’s head poked around the corner and you smiled. “Hi, Gabriel.”

“We missed you at the senate hearing,” he said, moving to sit at the end of your bed. “I thought you were going to come and listen to their proposals for a new government structuring?”

You pulled a face, shaking your head. “I’m not interested, Gabe,” you dismissed, getting to your feet and approaching the balcony. “I never wanted to lead an empire. I think… I think that was part of the reason I never stood up to him.”

Gabriel smiled, shaking his head. “You were manipulated your entire life, Y/N. The good thing is that now the empire can rebuild itself. But… you are the heir. Your mother was the daughter of an emperor. Azazel never had a claim without a royal blood connection.”

“I don’t want to be the heir,” you muttered, leaning against the wall and looking out over the city. “Can’t I say no? Why can’t I control my own fate?”

“You can. The senate can hold an election, change the system, avoid one man holding too much power.”

You pulled a face. “Why does it have to be a man?”

Gabriel chuckled, moving to stand beside you. “Doesn’t have to be. Future is yours to steer, sweetheart, if you want it.” He looked out over the city, gesturing wide with his arm. “Either way, I think you’re good”

“Who are you?” you asked suddenly. “You’re strange. Nothing like other people I’ve met, even if you claim to be from far away.”

He touched two fingers to his head as if saluting, your comment obviously complimenting him. “Always were a bright spark,” he chattered, turning away from the window. “But I’ll be going. You don’t need me here anymore.” With a bow, he headed for the door, pausing when you opened your mouth to speak and nothing came out. “Don’t worry,” Gabriel waved, “and you’re welcome.”

*****

The senate had disbanded, ready to reassemble at the end of the winter and select a new leader of the Roman people. You wanted nothing to do with it - you’d always shied away from politics and you’d never been taught what was required of a leader.

Plus, you weren’t sure the male senate was ready for a woman to tell them what to do.

Those loyal to Azazel had been rounded up and killed or exiled. There was nothing more to be done and nothing left for you in Rome.

“Where will you go?” Sam asked, keeping close to your side as you walked through the courtyard. He’d stayed in the palace with his brother, determined to find the rest of their father’s remains to properly lay him to rest. Now their task was complete, there was little left for them in Rome either.

You shrugged, thinking back over the last few days. Everything was changing and you’d been imprisoned your entire life. You felt like a bird finally freed from a cage… like a wolf that had found its pack.

Only you hadn’t quite managed to broach that subject with either brother. Trying to explain the pull they both had on you was too difficult; you belonged with them even though you barely knew them. “Maybe I’ll explore parts of the world that haven’t been discovered yet,” you said, looking up at the blue sky above, birds fluttering in a dance through the breeze. “Or maybe I’ll hide in a cave in the woods and become a creature of legend.”

Sam smiled, stopping in his tracks and you stopped too, turning to look at him. “I don’t think you should hide in a cave,” he murmured. “And I think we should go with you.”

“Go with me?” you asked, trying to seek clarification on the “we” part.

He moved closer, taking hold of your shoulders. “I do not believe that our meeting was a coincidence. I’ve been… researching. Azazel destroyed a lot of texts in the libraries but I’ve pieced together information about these marks.” A sigh left him as his thumbs rubbed your shoulders. “I never knew my father was an Elysium. I never saw his marks.”

“What else did you find out? Azazel never allowed me access to the texts - I should have known then that he knew of my heritage.” You took Sam’s hand. “I am sorry that your mother was murdered because of me.”

“It was not your fault,” Sam whispered, lifting your hand to kiss you knuckles and you found yourself mesmerized by his lips. “An old friend once told me that Elysium were built in pairs.”

“Is that true?” God, he was handsome up close. Just the scent of him was driving you wild.

“No,” he informed you, his lips almost touching yours now. “It’s a myth. Elysium are built in units.”

The kiss was hesitant, your mind spinning with what he’d said but the second his tongue dragged across your bottom lip, you gave in. You melted into his larger frame, throwing your arms around his neck, kissing him until breathing became a necessity. “What does that mean?” you panted.

“You’re my mate,” Sam purred, kissing along your jaw. “But you’re also Dean’s.”

You pulled away, staring at him. “I won’t be owned,” you stated, defiant in the face of his possessive words. “I’m not anyone’s to control.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “My lady,” he muttered, reaching out to cup your face. “I can assure you, Dean and I are completely at your service. We belong to you as much as you belong to us.” Your heart thumped wildly in your chest as his hand slipped down to take yours. “Why don’t you come upstairs? Dean is waiting.”

*****

Waking the next morning, sore and aching, sandwiched in between the two Elysium, you felt like you’d found a paradise in the walls of your former prison. Their scent surrounded you, two distinct aromas that mixed together like a damn aphrodisiac to your sensitive nose.

Sam roused first, his cock stirring to life against the crack of your ass. They’d both taken you separately last night, their touch still lingering on your skin, tiny fingerprint bruises that you traced with your finger. One day, you’d have them both buried inside you, when you’d grown accustomed to the sheer size of them.

“Good morning,” Sam breathed, kissing your neck, one hand trailing down over your side until he reached your knee, lifting it and thrusting his cock between your still-soaked folds. It took only a slight adjustment of your hips to let him sink into you until his sac was resting on your inner thigh.

Dean’s eyes opened slowly, his expression confused as he processed what was happening. “One way to wake up,” he grumbled, leaning in to kiss you as you cried out, clenching around the thick shaft inside you. Dean pressed his hand between your bodies, bypassing his own erection. His thumb grazed over your clit and you shuddered, eyes rolling back.

“Dean,” Sam warned. “She’s tight enough without you doing that.”

“What’s the matter, little brother?” Dean teased, leering at Sam over your shoulder. “Struggling to keep up?” He tweaked your clit between his thumb and forefinger and you cried out, bucking onto Sam as your pussy spasmed. Sam snarled, biting into your shoulder. “How quick can you make him cum, baby?”

You whined loudly as Dean’s thumb rubbed your clit, making it swell and pulse, your body reacting to the touch by clamping down on Sam’s cock, your ass lifting instinctively so he could get as deep as possible. Sam groaned, holding your leg up as he fucked into you.

He cursed as he came hard, filling your insides but leaving you unsatisfied, whimpering at the loss of the friction as Sam pulled away and Dean ceased his ministrations. You pouted and he chuckled, letting Sam move before grabbing you and pulling you over his body. With a thigh either side of him, Dean positioned you over his cock, watching as you sank down onto him willingly.

Sam sat up, smirking as you rode his brother, breasts bouncing in the early morning sunlight that filtered through the window. “I think you should know what it feels like,” he murmured, reaching over and pressing his hand between your thighs, centering his attention on your abused and sensitive clit.

Your pussy tightened enough for Dean’s eyes to cross and he tried to swat Sam’s hand away but it was too late. It hadn’t taken much to destroy your stamina and you came hard enough to drench Sam’s fingers and Dean’s cock.

He followed you over the edge, leaving Sam smirking that the elder had lost control a lot quicker.

“I’m not gonna be a pissing contest between you either,” you growled, climbing off of Dean as he chuckled at your unamused expression, dragging you down to kiss you fiercely. “I mean it,” you reinforced the warning but Dean kept smiling. Eventually, he let you up and you stood from the bed, grabbing a sheet to wrap around yourself. Neither brother seemed bothered by their nudity; Dean remained on the bed with his arms behind his head while Sam lounged on the recliner by the balcony.

“Decided where you want to go yet?” the younger brother asked, rolling his head in your direction.

“Right now? I want to bathe,” you quipped, wandering over to him. Sam sat up a little, pulling you into his lap. “I’m sticky and sweaty.”

“But we like you that way,” Sam growled, burying his mouth against your throat and you giggled. His thumb brushed over the mark on your arm, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. “You smell like us.”

You pushed at his shoulder, still giggling. “I smell like sex.”

“Even better,” Dean drawled from the bed. “I could drown in your scent.”

“You’re vulgar,” you tossed back, escaping from Sam’s clutches. “And I haven’t decided where I want to go. Can’t we just -” You sighed and shrugged. “Go?”

Dean sat up, crossing his legs as he shared a look with Sam. You’d discovered their odd methods of communicating without words and had yet to figure it out. They could talk with only an expression which was very frustrating when they were plotting against you.

“Just go? Pick a direction?” Sam asked and you nodded, hugging the sheet to your body. “As long as it’s not North and we can stay where it’s warm?” He leaned back. “Sure.” His eyes locked on Dean’s.

“I go where you go,” Dean shrugged, picking at the sheets. “As long as she’s safe.”

You smiled, moving back over to the bed, leaning over him and reaching for his hand. He instantly dragged you down onto the bed. “You fiend!” you shrieked, slapping at his chest. “You tricked me.”

“I’m good at that,” he smirked, kissing you hard at first before the caress turned gentle and demanding. “Bathe later. Wanna fuck you again.”

“You’re insatiable,” you complained, not resisting when he tugged the sheet down. Sam returned to the bed, assisting his brother in pinning you down. “Both of you.”


	11. Chapter 11

In the end, you decided to leave Rome behind entirely and you travelled west with Sam, Dean and Impala. You left most of your possessions behind, taking enough gold to barter passage if needed and to feed yourselves along the way.

Within three months, you reached the western most point of Britannia, a place called Kernow. It wasn’t very densely populated - few Romans had ventured this far - and the locals were wary of newcomers. But it felt like a place you could call home.

Building shelter took time and you discovered that in Britannia it rained. A lot. Which meant things grew in a much faster fashion than they had in Italy and it was lucky the brothers had grown up with farming, taught by their father to live off of their own land. You didn’t have a clue what you were doing but you picked it up quickly.

It was nice to live somewhere that no one knew your history. No one knew who you were and you grew to know the people in the nearby villages. You’d learned their language as a child and taught the most useful bits of it to Sam and Dean, with the former picking it up with much more dexterity than his brother.

The storms on this island were much more savage than the ones at home. Being so close to the coast, they brought freezing winds and heavy winter, with thick blankets of snow that you did not know how to contend with. Sam seemed to adapt the best although Dean remained more concerned about Impala freezing in the stables.

It was the shortest day of the year and the ground was covered in white, leaving you, Dean and Sam indoors, only venturing out for the most necessary of chores. Sam had taken to collecting books and parchments, able to indulge his scholarly habit while the weather prevented work. Dean was drawing, designing a new permanent home for the animals and you’d decided to prepare the evening meal while it was still fairly light.

Sam and Dean hunted frequently and today had brought home a brace of coneys, perfect for a stew. Most of the fruit and vegetables you had were from the local village; your first crop wouldn’t be ready for a while yet. The only thing you’d managed to grow so far were potatoes - adjusting to the seasons here was taking time and Sam was relying on information from locals on the planting and harvesting seasons.

“I was thinking we could add another room onto the cottage,” Dean suggested suddenly. You and Sam looked up - the younger Winchester smiled and agreed readily as you frowned.

“Why would we need another room? We have all the space we need,” you commented, slicing through the carrots carefully. “If we have more room to heat, that will need more wood.” Sam rolled his eyes, chuckling and your frown deepened. “Am I missing something?”

Dean got up from his seat, wandering over to you with a smile on his face, stopping when he was stood behind you, sliding his arms around your waist. “Might be handy to have another room in case of guests. Or other visitors.”

Ceasing your dinner preparations, you turned in Dean’s hold, uncertain of his meaning. “I’m not following. The only person you know is Castiel from the tavern.”

“He means a nursery,” Sam stated, clearing up the confusion.

You froze. “Babies?” you squeaked. “You want babies?” Dean arched an eyebrow. “Right now?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “They normally take a few months,” he drawled, leaning in to kiss you. “Don’t you want that?” You gasped as he dropped his mouth to your jaw, kissing a path up to your ear. “Don’t you want me and Sammy to breed you?”

His words were pure filth and you shuddered, your body responding instantly. “I… I hadn’t thought about it,” you confessed, closing your eyes as Dean kept moving lower and lower, mouthing at the top of your breasts. It was the truth that children hadn’t even crossed your mind. Staying alive when Azazel’s allies were still out there had taken priority.

“Wanna think about it?” Dean asked, pulling back with dark eyes fixated on you.

You found yourself pinned between the brothers, Sam’s hands working to undo your tunic. “We can practice in the meantime,” Sam growled, nipping at your throat.

The question popped into your head and escaped your lips before you could stop it. “But… who?”

Both men stopped, looking at each other with lewd grins. You didn’t get an answer and you shrieked when Sam tore your clothing. Dean bent down to scoop you out of the pooling fabric, carrying you toward the pile of furs on the floor in front of the roaring fireplace.

He lay you down gently, resuming his soft kisses down your shoulder, curving down towards your breasts. Sam knelt by your head, bending to kiss you as Dean lavished attention on your nipples, leaving them hard and aching.

The question of “who” became obsolete as Dean’s touch ventured further south, his hands pressing between your thighs and forcing them open. You moaned, breaking the kiss with Sam and he smiled down at you. “We were made for you,” he murmured, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb.

Dean’s tongue stroked over your folds and you whimpered loudly, arching on the furs. Sam’s hand was on your breast now, palming the fleshy mound and distracting you with more kisses, thrusting his tongue into your mouth in a rhythm that unconsciously matched his brother’s.

Between the two of them, you thought you might pass out, your fingers clutching the furs underneath your ass as supper was completely forgotten.

Two fingers pressed into your entrance and you spread your thighs a little more, greedy for the climax you could practically taste. Sam pushed up, freeing his erection from underneath his tunic, quickly discarding his clothing. He fisted his cock, offering it to you as you parted your lips.

With a decadent moan, you suckled at the swollen tip, swiping your tongue over his slit to taste the saltiness gathering there. Sam tipped his head back, groaning deeply as Dean fucked you with his fingers, using his tongue and teeth to tease your clit. Waves of pleasure cascaded over you and your eyes rolled back, your throat relaxing around Sam’s cock as you came. Dean didn’t stop what he was doing, eagerly lapping up your juices as you spasmed around his fingers.

When you crashed back to earth, you dragged your mouth away from Sam, panting for breath. Dean pulled himself up, smacking his lips together noisily. “Still thinking?”

You groaned in irritation, reaching for him but both brothers dodged out of your reach, making you scowl. Dean’s hand grasped your ankle, pulling you down the furs as Sam rolled you onto your belly, room enough for him to sit in front of you.

“What - ooo -” Your complaint was cut off with a strangled cry as Dean’s cock pressed into you, his hands propping you up on your knees to present your ass to him. “Fuck,” you whimpered, eye level with Sam’s cock. He held it at the base, smirking at you.

“Eldest goes first,” Sam murmured, “but I didn’t get the bad end of the deal either.” He leaned forward, grasping the back of your head with his free hand. “I get to watch that exquisite look on your face when Dean does this.”

“Does what?” you whined.

Thickness filled your pussy suddenly and almost painfully, making you gasp out a cry. Dean’s cock was inside you to the hilt, stretching you wide, the tip pressing against your cervix. It was a confusing mixture of too much and too little - you didn’t even hear Sam’s amusement at your reaction to the sudden penetration.

Dean groaned, shuddering as your body acclimatized by tightening around him, the wetness coating him thoroughly. You cried out again, Sam’s cock bobbing an inch in front of your face. With one hand, you caught him, guiding him into your mouth, making him snarl in pleasure.

Large hands slid down from your ass, underneath your belly, taking hold of the insides of your thighs. With one movement, Dean spread your legs even further, fucking into you as hard as he could. The roughness of his actions pushed you down onto Sam’s cock, gagging and retreating quickly as Sam groaned at the way your throat convulsed.

“Dean,” he chided. “Don’t break her.”

The elder Winchester looked up, smirking. “I wasn’t trying to.”

You growled over your shoulder. “You couldn’t even if you did.”

“Is that a challenge?” Dean asked playfully, meeting Sam’s eyes. He placed on hand on the middle of your back, pushing you down until only your ass was raised and your belly pressed into the furs. The position cut off your ability to speak but also turned you on more than you thought possible. “Shouldn’t tease, Y/N. Might get what you ask for.”

His hips snapped into you, his thick girth filling you at a new angle, a  _ deeper _ angle that really did feel like he was going to break you. Dean leaned over, smiling smugly.

“I’m gonna pump you full of cum,” he informed you, making you gasp needily. “For practice.”

A wanton sound left your lips as Dean straightened his back and rolled his pelvis, starting slow, watching the way your body swallowed him over and over. You were completely at his mercy, bent almost double, knees tucked under your belly. Sam was still sat in front of you, stroking his cock lazily with one hand, leaning on the other as he played the voyeur.

“Not practice,” you whimpered, trying to get more air into your lungs. “Want it.”

Dean groaned, hips working faster and the wetness of your cunt was audible. Sam’s fingers gripped your chin, helping you to get a little more purchase on the furs under his brother’s weight. “Say what you want, Y/N,” he purred and you swallowed.

“Breed me, Sam. Want you both to breed me.”

It was all the encouragement Dean needed, his pace becoming erratic. In seconds, he was pressing deep inside you, the warmth of his cum filling your belly. He groaned against your back, clinging to you as he rode out his high.

Sam waited for Dean to withdraw before dragging you up the makeshift bed, settling you in his lap with your legs around his waist. “My turn,” he growled, lining up and sinking into you with one smooth stroke. You cried out, clinging to his neck as he wasted no time in picking up a rhythm.

For a few seconds, it was just you and Sam, heavy breathing in the space between your bodies. Then you came undone again, bouncing in Sam’s lap, aware of Dean laying across the bottom of the furs, just watching you move in the firelight.

Snow had started to fall outside the cottage again and dinner wasn’t even halfway prepared. But you didn’t care about any of it as Sam finally reached his peak, remaining inside you, still rock hard, demanding kisses from you as you tried to recover.

You were propped on his chest, panting heavily. “You’re still hard,” you whispered and Sam chuckled. “Didn’t I get the job done?”

“Oh, you got it done,” he murmured back, stroking your hair back from your face. “I’m just being insatiable.” You giggled, looking over at Dean who was sporting a similarly still-erect cock. “C’mere,” Sam rumbled, pulling you into another kiss as he started to move, laying back and rolling you onto your side. “I don’t tell you enough how much I love you.”

A happy sigh left your lips and you cupped his cheek, feeling warmth blossom in your chest as Dean crawled up behind you, pressing you between them. “You tell me plenty.” Both of them were wrapped around you now and both of them were still needy for your body. “And you can show me. Just…”

“When you’re ready,” Dean whispered, brushing his lips along your shoulder. “We’re here.”

Sam nodded, bumping the tip of his nose against yours. “Not goin’ anywhere.”


End file.
